Along Came a Spider-Woman
by PrayTonight
Summary: I was just a little thing climbing my way through the darkness, and it always ended up with me getting washed back down to the bottom. I kept going, determined to see the light at the very end because the Itsy Bitsy Spider believed she would climb to the top and reach the Sun. SI/OC stuck in MCU!
1. The Itsy Bitsy Spider

Sorry guys, I just wanted to start over with the whole thing because I accidentally replaced a revised version of chapter 2 in chapter 1 and since I had erased the old version of the first chapter, well... So yeah, this is going to be a written version of the first chapter. Not much has changed, maybe a few things to make it tweaked up a little. I do hope you guys don't mind that, and I'm really sorry about the whole confusion.

Those of you just starting to read this, ignore what's written above this paragraph and move on your merry way to reading this story. So, for those of you wondering, this is somewhat of a Self-Insert OC story because these things are few and far in between when it comes to the MCU. Nothing new about an OC to play a story in the movies, but it's a whole different game when the OC is someone from our world, yeah? To be honest, the Self-Insert MCU stories I've come across aren't so great because they usually have the protagonist freak the canon characters out with their batshit weirdness and blabbering mouths. I want to take the time for you, the reader, to follow a somewhat slow pace of my protagonist.

Hopefully this story will make a good entrance in getting people inspired to make _good_ Self-Insert fics in the MCU. Remember to review after the story, thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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It was just another normal night.

I was prepared for the annual SDCC, my ticket bought, my money saved (and prepared to be wasted by whatever knick-knacks I would buy), and my costume ready to be worn. It was like a life-long fulfillment awaiting to be accomplished, the bucket list that crossed out everything I wanted to do before I died.

I couldn't sleep... which wasn't so surprising.

Behind my closed eyelids was brightness, fast-paced motion, and muted noise of how the event would go; there would be people dressed up as their favorite characters from television to comic books to video games, there would be high-profiled celebrities taking pictures and doing Q&A with fans, and there would multiple products from forged weapons to figurine collections.

It was the one of the few places on earth where geeks and nerds got together for this huge costume party bonanza.

Upcoming games, movies, television, cartoons to await impatiently on the flat screen of my room, things to purchase to hang on my walls or stands, and shelves to fill with comics (both eastern and western), and just more, more, _more_!

Sleep was going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. I haven't felt this excited since that awful time I had to study my arse off until the end of school where I was finally given a high school diploma. Mum had to help me calm my scattered nerves because I was so shaken and nervous of the possibility I would fail my exams and end up another year in school, and it didn't help that my older brother was telling me stories about how I would end up being some girl flipping burgers in the back of a fast food restaurant.

The door to my room (which I had locked) slammed open to reveal my brother who was dressed only in his boxers while holding a can of Monster. The prick went so far as to flip the light on, and I hissed when my retinas burned from the brightness.

"Oy, you! C'mon!" he strode over to my bed, patting my quilt-covered body. "It's not even eight, get up! I need you to do me and the boys a favor!"

"Go away!" I ordered, wanting to be left in peace.

"Look, just go get some food for us! I'll pay ya back, now get your lazy arse up, you numpty-head."

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I had turned in earlier to hopefully get a head start and rise early in the morning, but my excitement wasn't helping in trying to put the plan in motion. I groaned, feeling his pats gets harder as I continued to lie still. He was never going to stop until I gave in, a tactic he had used since toddlerhood.

"Fine!" I shouted, having enough of his pestering. "Get off of me! And get out so I can change!"

"Finally! You're a good sport, you are!" my brother gave false cheer and paraded himself out of the room after giving an obnoxious salute.

Without a word, I closed the door and started getting dressed to head out. Pulling on some black yoga pants and bright aqua-colored crocs, I realized too late what I was doing. These were the clothes I would wear for tomorrow, the items coming close to matching with the costume I ordered from an online website.

Well, it was just for a little while, it wasn't like I was going to dirty the fabrics in any way if I went straight to some some burger joint and come back to the flat. I opened the closet where the slim sweater hung, pulling it out of its place and shrugging it onto my shoulders.

It looked not perfect, something that would give me last place in a costume competition... but to me, in that moment, it looked amazing.

"Hurry up~!"

Then the moment was shot dead.

"Shut up, I'm going!"

My brother barely batted an eyelash when he saw me walk out (as he knew he shouldn't talk about me dressing up because he was also going to dress up as some armored soldier for tomorrow), merely gave me a piece of paper of the orders he written down for himself and his mates that were almost crowding the small living room in our shared apartment. I stepped out of the apartment and proceeded towards the nearby fast food, greeting a couple of neighbors as I went down a flight of stairs.

I had no idea that _that_ would be the last time I would give pleasant greetings to my neighbors, make an offensive hand gesture to the boys huddled up in the living room, and return an obnoxious salute to my brother.

Because even though the night was normal, no different from any other when I had made trips to get food and return home—it wasn't.

And that was how I disappeared out of existence.

( _Many years later, after everyone said they couldn't find her, after police issued out a missing person report, after communities reached out to one another to find a single trace, after their family stood in front of a podium to plea at the watchful cameras for the whereabouts for their missing sister/daughter/niece/friend, after people began to lose hope, after people stopped asking, after people accepted that she was gone, after people finally learned to move on, he wondered with a faint smile if his sister had gone and gotten herself her own food rather than coming back to feed the rest._ )

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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Somewhere far away (dimensions, universes, galaxies, systems away), an underground bunker full of men and women worked like busy bees as the item in the middle of the room began to glow brighter than almost a star becoming supernova. It was beautiful, like the core of a planet fitted right in the palm of their hands, power beyond and infinite to help rebuild what was once a previously a lost cause. Years of surviving and accumulating itself from within made them stronger, wiser, keener, and much sharper than their last incarnation.

The the bright sun in the middle of their large room finally died, signaling an end to their experiment.

... an experiment that resulted in a small figure dressed in odd garbs falling from where the brightness came, along with a spilled over milkshake and a fast food meal made for one.


	2. Life in Six Months

First chapters, I believe, are kind of the hardest things to start with because of how we really want to convey something vs how we type it once its posted up on the screen. I know I'm not the only one who thinks, 'damn, that's not exactly how I was trying to tell the story'. Sorry, first chapters are hard and I just wanted to say that any author who thinks this way is not alone. Moving on, I hoped people liked it, despite how confusing it was. It's pretty funny that I didn't even come up with a name for the OC protagonist after I had posted the first chapter. At first, I wanted the name to be unique (nothing like Raven, Shadow, Reaper, Vixen, Silver Fox, those names are seriously overrated and cliche AF), so I went through the internet by looking up names. I found a couple names but I decided to save those for other stories because they didn't seem appropriate with this protagonist.

Thank you internet for your ever helpful vast information in helping me come up with a valuable name that was somewhat unique, old, and very appropriate for my OC. Enjoy the next chapter, it will still have some vagueness to it but all will be answered as you read along!

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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 **SIX MONTHS LATER**

Being behind a cash register was familiar and comfortable enough for me to feel a sense of calm and purpose. I had enough practice of it when I had worked as a local grocer during my earlier youth when there was no after school practice in the gym.

Still, even as my fingers tapped away to charge another disgruntled-looking customer who wanted to make quick haste back in their hole of a home, I couldn't feel quite relaxed when the television screen that hung overhead blared breaking news. Normally, news didn't bother with me much, only when it came to distant concerns about the horrible things that always happened with mad men going on a murder spree by attacking crowded places, a terrorist group making threats to bomb people or places, or even about the ridiculousness of politics and their scandals... but the sort of news that was displayed was the kind that made me honestly sick to the stomach.

I glared at the cash register, desperately trying to ignore the faint voices of the anchormen and women as they had kept repeating the phrase like a broken record.

And if I acknowledged it? What then? Who would want to hear what I wanted to say? Who would take my words and consider them truth? That's right; nobody would listen. I would either sound like a complete and utter lunatic, a conspiracy theorist... but worst of all, should someone actually listen to me, they would most likely conclude that I was probably an accomplice to what had happened.

But it was hard. I didn't want to believe it because seeing it meant that everything, from the horrifying past to the dreadful present since my arrival, was actually true.

Walking out of McDonald's with my happy meal and milkshake, prepared to return to my shared apartment with my brother to wave my junk food in a condescending manner, and ready for the big day of the next morrow, and then suddenly ripped out my existence only to end up somewhere not home. It was like a huge black out happened—then everything became bright without warning.

The world exploded into liquid fire made up entirely of bright blue, swimming across my vision as my body was yanked through it like a rag doll. I couldn't scream, either afraid of accidentally swallowing my tongue or too busy watching myself fly by the universe, going through colorful gas clouds that whirled away when I blew through, galaxies from far away illuminated like spiraling disks, and several nebula's spread out with a color splash to paint the vastness of space.

Finally, the light show came to an end.

( _IwantedtoseemoreIwantedtoseethestarsagain_ )

The first clear memory of when I had awoken was when everything smelled like days old water left alone for too long, something of which my brother had done multiple times when he didn't clean his bathroom for months.

After that, things got weird... then unsettling, and eventually terrifying that I still felt every cell in my body turn cold from the memories.

It was by strange circumstances, unanticipated chances, and dumb luck that I found myself living a seemingly semi-normal life working behind a cash register while living in a dump of an apartment. Those were some of my first trying times, times where I had broken down and cried before a neighbor banged the walls with demands that I shut up, times where I had to hold myself back from approaching a policeman to ask for help because God only knew this would be a tip off to my pursuers that would be more than happy to drag me back to their hellhole I had barely escaped from.

Somehow, I managed it.

Being in another country was a little difficult, but thankfully it was in a language not so hard to learn from given that I had taken previous lessons of it back in my high school classes. I integrated with the crowd after the language barrier became more manageable for me, and I was lucky enough to come across a small handful of people who were willing to give me a chance and hire me for a couple of jobs that would meet to their satisfaction.

I would be a custodian who cleaned up a small stadium after amateur bull fights occurred, I would wash dishes and silverware (I hated the stains that most restaurants overlooked and wanted to spare customers the same fate), I would babysit rowdy children to keep them from bothering their temperamental and overworked parents, and I would sometimes work in a grocery store.

With the money I had to slowly accumulated from the past few weeks, I was well off with sheltering and feeding myself. Given that my social life was non-existent and my body was thrumming with energy, I was barely tired and there was rarely ever a need to spend my money on unnecessary things outside of food and clothes. Sure, I was still paranoid as hell, and I was constantly looking over my shoulder to find faces that didn't belong in the city I ended up in, but I was managing it.

My parents would have been proud.

Now, I thought as my eyes helplessly flickered towards the television screen that caught most of the world's attention, I was trying so hard not to send myself into a hysterical panic attack at what had been haunting me for the past few weeks.

 _ **Tony Stark missing in Afghanistan**_

First time I saw it as I was passing a news stand, I had stopped and gawked at the colorful picture of Robert Downey Jr. looking debauched with several leggy blonds attached to each of his arms.

The first thing that ran through my mind was, _'Are those new Infinity War screenshots of Iron Man?'_

That sort of thinking quickly crashed and burned when I recalled just how exactly I had managed to escape from the clutches of my captors and who they were.

I reacted by scrambling to a nearby trash bin and hurling my insides out of my gagging mouth, ignoring the concern of some locals as my eyes burned with mounting fear that continued to pile up higher and higher with each passing day.

How fucked up was it for a poor sod like me to end up in a place where I had only seen on my flat screen in just my nighties? Let me say: very much so. I remembered how excited people had been for the first release of the Iron Man film, and I had been too young to remember much about the first Hulk film. But when I saw Iron Man race across the sky with the jets following close behind him, my heart soared with adoration and excitement.

Now? Now I felt a heavy weight push my tired body closer to the ground the longer I stayed, listened, and continued to see everything happen all around me. Denial was useless to me, and besides, I had much bigger fish to worry about.

Said fish had been standing at the freezer aisle for the past forty minutes without picking up whatever dairy products they had been eyeing. The hair on the nape of my neck rose in alarm, an instinctual force telling me that there was something happening behind me. Feigning to bend down and straighten my sneakers, I glanced at the corner of my eyes to find a red laser light gleaming where I had been.

 _'Time to go.'_ I swallowed thickly as I pressed a button to alert someone to take over the cash register I was at.

I knew this would happen. I had seen it happen, how relentless they were when they wanted to claim back something they believed was theirs to begin with. I remembered sleepless nights, afraid to startle awake in time to see those horrible people storm inside my room with their weapons and tools of torture to extract and demand things I only knew half the time.

My dad was a man of the military, and he was all about routine, preparation, and order. His habits passed down on his children, and from this I was mentally preparing myself for the inevitable event that I would come face-to-face with the ones who caused me to become lost in their world... as well as some things that made me second guess almost every little thing I did.

Keeping my head low, I passed through the thick throngs of people. I was lucky that today was the day I would get a paycheck from working long hour shifts in the store to earn extra. Since I had no proof or record of my existence (a fact a certain group had taken advantage of in making it easier for me to simply disappear off the streets), I was always being payed in notes as the manager believed I was just another poor person who had no bank account and simply hid their fortune in a mattress. It was sort of true.

I had never had to worry about money since my dad served in the Royal Air Force; the bank that took care of current and former military men and women gave a lot of benefits for the family of the people who served. All I had now was a ziplock bag tucked somewhere inside a toilet to keep any burglar from making off with the money I had earned from the past few months.

With my earnings inside my pockets, red hoodie sweater pulled up over my head, and eyes watching for any signs for trouble, I walked out into the open streets and quickly integrated with a group of people that were too busy chattering amongst themselves to notice the tag along they had. Movies, televisions, video games, and real life tips made it somewhat bearable for me to go through this without instantly going into full blown panic mode.

As hard as it was for me to believe, this was my life now. No one was going to save me, so I had to do the heavy-lifting by trying to keep the fuck calm and carry the fuck on.

Even if I was one girl up against an entire organization made up of neo-Nazi crazies that preached about humanity surrendering its freedom to them by making the rest of the world chaotic thus paving a path to peace.

( _Ilostmyselfinaspacewherenooneisgoingtohearmescream_ )

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Home was really more a tiny motel room with peeling walls, questionable stain marks, and not-so-reliable indoor plumbing, but it was all I had before I decided to think about more complicated things. The land lord didn't ask questions, just grunted at people with an open hand for the cheap rent money he demanded before scuttering off back in his own hole to watch more football (soccer).

Everyone in the apartments minded each other's own business, nobody bothering the other for sugar or normal things neighbors usually did together. Nobody even blinked when some troublesome-looking bloke came skulking inside with smell of drugs and alcohol trailing after him before disappearing behind the door.

This was the sort of place that would have made my mother had a heart attack before grabbing me by the wrist and forcing me back to live with her and dad. It was not the most ideal place, I knew, but it was also the perfect place to disappear for some time before moving on.

And moving day had finally come.

Door slammed open and then promptly slammed shut, I didn't waste any time by running to my bed and reaching for a giant duffel bag hidden underneath it. Clothes and newly purchased toiletries hidden away, I tossed the bag onto the mattress and ran into the bathroom for the toilet. I grimaced as I forced the lid of the tank open, sticking my hand in the dirty water to fish out a ziplock bag full of notes and change that would help me in what I had been planning for the last month.

 _danger, danger, DANGER_

My head whipped towards the door in time to see it thrown violently off its hinges as a group dressed in dark gear swarmed the scene.

Their guns raised, they all quickly scanned the suddenly empty apartment. With one left to stand guard at the entrance, the others spread around the room to look for the person they had been sent off to chase down. One threw open a closet door where only a few shirts and jeans hung in the air, another bent down to search the small kitchenette's cabinets.

Meanwhile, the last of the group went inside the bathroom, kicking a small laundry basket over before moving over to the tub. With the trigger locked into place, the man went over to the tub that was shielded by shower curtains, and with a grunt as they forced the curtains away... he found nothing.

With a curse, the dark agent snapped into his comms to relay a message that the apartment was swept clean. Just as he turned away to join his other equally frustrated companions, some tiny ceiling dust fell across his vision. He looked up.

And he was promptly met with a foot in the face.

As the agent collided into the wall, I dropped on all fours from the ceiling, head whipping up to spot all three startled agents that had been taken off guard from the ambush. Not giving them a chance of recovery, I grabbed the semi-conscious agent that was sliding off the wall in time to avoid being hit by three different bullets aimed for me. With a heave, I vaulted the body in my hold towards the two agents and ran at the third while the others fell onto the floor. I slapped away the gun aimed at me, not blinking as it went off while I gave a swift kick to the agent's unprotected groin. The man easily crumbled to the ground on his knees.

Seeing another agent scramble out of the dog pile with a gun still in their hands, I used the kneeling agent in front of me as a hold while delivering a double kick to the other's armored chest. The other slammed into the wall, denting it before falling out _on_ _the other side_!

Throwing my wad of notes and coins in the duffel bag, I ran around the limp bodies, hopping over the one that got kicked on the other side before darting down the hallway like a bullet.

Those goons couldn't have worked alone, and I just knew that once they tattled back to their superiors, the next time they came after me would be the time they sent larger squads on my tail. I was lucky they had underestimated me, that they hadn't expected me to put up much of a fight, but now that I had shown my cards to them, the next game was going to be brutal.

Not bothering to go downstairs (where there was more to be surely waiting for me), I knocked a few doors, hoping for one of them to quickly open up to me. The commotion I made probably scared them all shitless that they most likely barricaded themselves until the threat was gone. One door flung open, a room belonging to some red-eyed junkie, I didn't bother saying anything as I ducked under his arm and scrambled inside his apartment. Ignoring the protests and slurs made from behind me, I didn't even stop at the sight of half-naked women and men, too busy trying to get the hell away with my freedom intact. Spotting a nearby window, I forced it open and quickly scrambled down.

At the corner of my vision, I spied a couple of unmarked vans parked near the entrance of the apartment.

With the risk of being spotted, I grabbed the rails and hauled my body over it, flying the last two stories before landing like an acrobatic feline. I hauled arse after that, never looking behind as I ran for the crowded streets that would throw any of my pursuers off my trail for the moment. The clothes in my bag and the shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes and paste were all I was going to have when I got to where I was going.

Because once I got to where I needed to go, I was going to be some homeless kid living under a bridge inside a cardboard box.


	3. Up in the Air

Third chapter and here we go! As you can already tell, yeah, the organization she is talking about is the one named after the mythical Greek serpent, but the reason why none of it is actually mentioned is, well, it's complicated. Honestly, when it life never complicated? I mean, it's not everyday someone suddenly gets sucked inside another dimension/universe through some unknown means, ends up in some hellhole with nothing but baddies left and right keeping you company, and it certainty isn't freaky that now that you got away that they will do everything they can to _get you back_.

Huh, doesn't that sound a teensy bit familiar? Anyway, enough about hypothetical scenarios, let us move on to the chapter you all have been undoubtedly waiting for. Just remember to leave a review, I would leave to hear what anybody has to say about the story, questions that seem to pluck on your scalp with wonder that you can't help but want to reach out and ask. Ask away! So, thanks and enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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The small airport was dark, save for the distant luminescent lights shining from the building's window panes that contained people to get in and out of the country. The airport apron looked completely deserted with only a handful of people running about in their haste to help planes land safely or double-check for fuel and engine. The small planes flew as they came and went with their passengers on board, usually the passengers being tourists looking for a wonderful and exciting vacation on foreign soil. All that was happening deeper inside the airport when night fell, pilots needing all the help they could get when flying in the dark despite the headlights their planes carried.

The rest of the runways were utterly isolated 'til come morning.

Which served as perfect spots for illegal business under the cover of darkness.

"Arturo!" hissed a voice from the darkness. " _Arturo_!"

As soon as I had finished hissing out the name, I heard hurried footsteps make their way towards the bushy side of the fence I was currently ducking low behind. The sound of the linked fence cut through my ears before I finally saw who I had been waiting for when I had made a hasty call in a payphone for a hasty meeting.

"I'm here!" called out a lanky-looking man with short, dark curly hair as he scanned the darkness for me. "Señorita?"

Standing from the hiding spot, I watched the dark man slightly jerk from my appearance before quickly composing himself as he strode towards me while giving another scan to the area. What we were doing could cost him his job, and from that, not being able to provide for his hungry children and sickly wife. I met Arturo when I had been wandering around the fenced area, looking at the planes with contemplation of whether I should take a risk or not. The man spotted me, warning me off with threats of calling the police to detain me. I quickly defused the whole thing with a few awkward words I could manage from recalling my Spanish classes, and it must have really helped because the next thing I knew, Arturo was putting some effort in talking some English to me.

Arturo wanted to work as a flight attendant, but that costed a lot of learning with money he didn't have, so he had to make due as a small time patrol officer that made sure nobody would get through the fences.

So far, I was the only one who bothered to do that.

Every now and then, I would come by to have some small talk with him. I didn't share my life-story with him, but he didn't have no problems sharing his own. Having accidentally impregnate his girlfriend, the then teenage Arturo was forced into a marriage to save the honor of his girlfriend rather than let her face the wrath of her furious father. It had been difficult for the teen parents, and it only got worse when his young wife fell pregnant again. Money was tight for the couple, and it got even more worse on their luck when his wife fell ill from constantly overworking herself at the restaurant she worked.

I felt horrible about taking advantage of a poor man and his struggles with life, but I had to think about myself. The organization that was after me were dead-set on bringing me back to their underground labs full of insanity and pain, and I really had no time to think about other people's problems when I had my own to tackle. There was a huge possibility that my trail could lead them right to Arturo's doorstep, and maybe it didn't have to end violently on the man's part (or his family)... but really, I was going to be the one responsible in putting him and his family's life at risk if I went through with what I had been planning.

"Here's all that I have," I said as I opened my duffel bag and handed him the notes and coins in his hands. The wide-eyed look on his face was priceless as he took in the colored bills that sat messily in his trembling palms. It probably felt like a ton to him at that moment.

"You have no idea how much this means to me, señorita..." Arturo stuttered, eyes glittering with tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

The money wasn't really a lot. Yet, for Arturo to be left with stars and hope rising from his shaggy face, it told me that it was more than enough for him to get by that there wouldn't be too much trouble for him to feed his children and care for his wife properly.

"Don't thank me yet." I said, stomach twisting uneasily at the imagination of men in dark suits knocking on his doorstep.

"Right," he sniffed while pushing the money down his pocket. "Let us get you a plane."

"Yes." I nodded, staring at the airport beyond the fence. "Lets."

Two hours later, after bypassing some lazy security and going through a disguise, I was seated inside a plane with a forged ticket in my hand while Arturo was standing outside, watching the proceedings nervously as the luggage was loaded into the plane. The plane was half full of passengers, and I was somehow glad that Arturo landed me a ride that was a little private than most planes.

"Once you land, señorita, you're on your own." he warned me, his face tight with apprehension.

He was right. Once I landed on American soil, there would be security measures that far surpassed this airport, and I was going to have to depend on my own skills to get myself out of the mess. Arturo was depending on me to succeed, 'less my trail lead the authorities right back to him (and the organization that much closer in finding me).

I watched with anticipation as I sat in the plane for another hour, handful of people entering until finally, I closed my eyes with relief, the hatch closed. I ignored the announcement of the captains and flight attendants and their safety drill, my eyes focused on the man standing just below my window. His dark eyes locked on to me, both of us frozen before a small smile spread across my lips.

"Thank you," I mouthed to him.

His response, pulling a rosary from deep inside his collared shirt and kissing it while offering a prayer for my safe passage back to America. I felt my eyes dampened at the gesture, my fingers sliding under my lids to stop the tears while the heavy feeling in my chest gradually lightened.

I wasn't safe anywhere, I knew... but it was nice to find people who were willing to lend a hand.

Our eyes kept locked on one another as the engines whirled to life, his figure growing smaller but my eyes could still see his mouth quietly voicing his prayers. He finally disappeared when the plane began to drive towards the runway, nothing but darkness with flashing lights blinking in the distance. I closed my eyes as the plane started to go faster and faster, the feeling of my ears about to pop kept away as I swallowed thickly. The force of the plane making me press against my seat, my eyes picturing the plane lifting off in the air as the feeling of weightlessness overcame me.

Up in the air we went, as the plane chased after the fading sun.

For a moment, I wondered if this was me chasing after my freedom.

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"Perdóname? Señorita?"

I blinked awake, my vision coming clearly as I looked up to find a flight attendant standing over me with a small bottle of water and a can of soda held in each of her hands.

"Oh, sorry," I croaked as I straightened in my seat. "I-I'll take the water if you don't mind."

She acceded with the request and easily relinquished the bottle me. I thanked her before opening the bottle and took several sips of the water. My gaze flickered back into the darkness, the wings blinking in the darkness as it weaved through the clouds that occasionally drifted through us.

"Excuse me," a voice cuts through my tired mind.

Instead of some flight attendant offering small meals, there stood a man with an apologetic look on his face. Dark brown hair with small peppers of gray, his light green eyes open and expressive that I felt myself calm despite my wariness with strangers. He was dressed in a simple light blue dress shirt that was covered by his brown pea coat and some rumpled-looking slacks. He looked like a businessman rather than a tourist who was finally heading back to the states to rejoin his company and/or return to his awaiting family.

 _'Or,'_ my mind dangerously whispered. _'He could be one of them.'_

"Sorry to bother..." he started out quietly as he looked around. "Do you mind if I sit here? The guy I was with looked like he was seconds away from puking and... well..."

This could be a cover up, I thought as I looked around to find several empty seats ahead of the small plane, but I too wouldn't want to bother with walking all on the other side of the plane that could possibly disturb some people. Reluctant as I was, I had no excuse to turn him away... besides, if he did try and pull one over me, _he_ was the one who was going to find himself in a world of hurt.

"Go ahead, sir." I gestured at the empty seat next to me.

"Thank you."

The older man settled down and flicked down a tray that was folded up from the seat in front of him. Setting his laptop down, he opened it and pressed the power button for it to start. Keeping a subtle eye on him, I listened to him tap away on his smooth keyboard while gazing out the inky darkness from my window.

I startled when the plane became bumpy, my fingers digging into the armchair of my seat before slowly settling down when the turbulence ceased with the disturbance. I let out a shaky breath, momentarily closing my eyes before inhaling deeply to gather some courage. I was quick to notice the lack of fingers tapping on keyboards. Opening my eyes, I glanced over to find the older man looking openly at me with (seemingly) genuine concern.

"Not fond of planes, are you?"

I shook my head.

He hummed, looking away. "If it's any consolation, we're about less than four hours away from landing in Atlanta."

Against my will, I smiled. It was like being with my dad again, how he would talk and lecture me about planes rather than ignore me like some parents would with their children. Of course dad wasn't scared of stuff like planes, his job often revolved around planes, jets, helicopters, and other aircrafts, but he held my trembling hand none the less with his much bigger, warmer, and affirming palm. Just hearing him babble so casually made me feel safer, my heart calmer, and the trip across the ocean little less daunting without my brother's teasing about the possibility of our plane being hijacked and shit.

Thinking about him, about my mum and my brother, made me feel even more lonelier than I had ever been.

I had been lonely as a child before I met Lucy and Sarah, my two mates since childhood that (had) kept in contact with me via internet after my family moved from the country to America. I was lonely during my first few days in the new school, shy and speechless until a few had practically forced themselves under my gloomy cloud and introduced themselves as my new friends that I grew to love and cherish. I was lonely when I finally moved out of my parents home, not being able to sleep well because I couldn't hear my mother's soft music playing through the night to lullaby everyone to sleep, and then my brother invited himself over so many time to my place that he just moved in with me after he complained about not wanting to go back and forth so many times.

Now, I bit my bottom lip, I was the only one in the world who didn't truly belong. And it was so damn lonely.

"You meeting up with some family on the other side?" the older man asked.

 _'I wish.'_ I thought sadly.

Without thinking, I shook my head.

"Oh," he paused from his work on the computer. "I know countries like to use propaganda to paint how nice it is on the other side of the grass, but I seriously hope you're not traveling by yourself, kid."

I closed my eyes, chastising myself. Exhausted both physically and mentally from barely escaping the organization, I forgot about what sort of situation I was... and how it looked from the outsider's point of view. A scrawny, knobby-kneed teenage girl who had no adult supervision and admitted to not meeting with relatives waiting at the end... that spelled a neon sign of runaway. If the nosy bugger next to me kept at it, I was going to find myself in deep shit once the plane landed, and the next thing I know, I was going back into the cold clutches of the organization.

All that careful planning going _kaput_!

While that scary scenario was running in my mind, there was another thing to consider about the man next to me: was he an agent? was he a concerned adult? Or maybe the man was a pervert who preyed on vulnerable-looking girls who were by themselves (if he tried something that was remotely sexual, I was going to _break his prick in half_!).

I rubbed at my temple, feeling a migraine from the frustrations of having to deal with this.

"I hope you don't take offense, kid, but you look like you haven't had a proper sleep in weeks." the man continued on as he turned back to his computer.

 _'Well, you arse, when you're on the run from an underground group made up of megalomaniacs you tend to miss some hours of good night's rest. God forbid you sleep just a little longer only to find yourself with guns aimed directly at your face!'_ I scowled.

"And... you look like you're in trouble." he finished as he closed his laptop and faced me properly.

Any pretense of politeness vanished from me as I openly glared at him.

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" I gave him the most deadpanned answer I could conjure.

He shrugged. "I can read people really well."

"Oh?" I feigned surprise interest before glaring murderously at him. "Can you read me now?"

He chuckled. _Chuckled_. In my face!

"I really offended you with that sleepless zombie remark, huh?" he sheepishly grinned at me as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I sometimes saw my brother do when his girlfriend called him out on his bullshit (or when mom had found his hidden stash of dirty mags).

I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my mind, but instead let out a groan from the throbbing pain that came from my head, reaching up to rub my temples again as if that would help soothe it.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he saw my curl up.

"My head..." I murmured.

"Rick?"

The man and I looked up to see a woman with layered dark hair standing over the man beside me. She was lovely-looking, but she seemed ill from the way she clutched onto the top of the seats as if to keep herself from falling over while her one hand rested against the side of her head. Well, the airplane we were in wasn't exactly the smoothest ride, but I felt something of alarm bells go off when I continued to stare at the woman.

"Mary?" the man straightened in his seat, his voice brimming with concern when he reached out and held the woman by her waist when she began to sway dangerously on the side. "Mary, what's wrong?"

Seeing the woman feel like she was on the verge of falling into unconsciousness, I rose up from my seat and was about to flag down a flight attendant—when I saw many other passengers clutching at their heads in a similar manner, some of them already passed out.

"What's going on?" I demanded in alarm, looking all around to see only less than a handful looking about with just as much as bewilderment I was feeling.

"The water," the woman slurred as she finally fell over. The man was quick to catch her, getting up off the seat and placing the woman where he had sat. "Th-they drugged the water and drinks, Rick."

I looked down at the small water bottle in my hands for a moment before hurling it away.

"Rick..." the woman whispered as her eyes fluttered closed despite the man's pleas for her to stay awake for him. "They're coming."

I felt my entire insides freeze up when I heard the woman breathe one last word before joining the other passengers in the deep sleep.

" _HYDRA_."


	4. Serpents on a Plane

Yuh-oh! Looks like our main protagonist is not out of the woods yet! Many thanks for anyone who favs and follows this story, you're all great. And I also appreciate the words of the reviewers. Pop quiz to you mega fans of Marvel: do you recognize the people from last chapter since two of the three are actually canon characters? If not, keep reading and you'll find out (or not, depending if you caught onto the whole thing).

Please remember to leave a review!

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

 **Trigger Warning! References to SUICIDE! Read at your own risk!**

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Things went from bad to worse.

A panicking female passenger rushed towards the front, disappearing behind a curtain while frantically calling for help in a shrill tone before it was promptly silenced by the sharp crack of a gunshot. It wasn't long when the other passengers started screaming, all of them bolting out of their seats to run for the back in a vain attempt to find safety.

The whole thing reminded me of a time somewhere in my early childhood; my brother and I had been watching a movie, a cartoon about a small group of rabbits leaving their burrow because one of them had a horrible dream about their home being destroyed by construction workers looking to expand the land and turn it into a neighborhood. I could never forget that horrible picture painted on the telly. Rabbits piled together as they tried to escape, all exits blocked and danger just closing in all around them, and the bodies of the rabbits choking everything and everyone else going insane from the mayhem and death.

Right now, I felt like a helpless rabbit that was driven to a corner and was about to be killed. I would be amongst the piles of dead bodies as we all were pushed against the wall with bullets riddling our bodies with the last thing to see and hear were people screaming and dying all around us.

"Shit!" the man, Rick, cursed as he ducked down behind a seat while opening his computer and furiously tapping away at it.

"No, no, no, no, no...!" I trembled as I slid back down, pressing myself against the back of a seat as tears fell from my eyes.

I was naive to believe that the organization didn't have eyes and ears everywhere. Somehow I had slipped up, somehow they recognized me through my cheap disguises and stealthily replaced the original flight and cabin crew with agents of their own to find me. The movies always painted pictures of secret organizations always having an eye on everything and anything, and it caused a lot of paranoia in real life (especially when in the case of Snowden). It was one thing to see on the big screen, another to feel some doubt when holding a smartphone in my palm, but a whole different dimension when I was constantly stalked and hunted down by people who were trying to sink their claws back onto me.

 _'The woman,'_ a tiny voice of reason called out to me. _'That woman knew something!'_

My wide eyes snapped to Rick, a small feeling of betrayal and bitterness coiling at the tip of my tongue when I looked at him. If the woman who was associated with that man knew a thing or two about the organization, then there really was no doubt that he knew something of it, too. I jerked at the sound of footsteps, looking past the seat I was hiding behind to find a couple of men and women in dark gear making their way through the aisle.

They were heavily armed.

"You haven't passed out."

My head whipped back to the man, his eyes roving over me before they found my eyes again. While I was glad that the effects of the drugs didn't result in me falling unconscious, I was alarmed about how quick he was able to immediately catch something off about me. It was bad that the people of the organization knew, and it would only get worse if more and more people discovered things about me that I didn't want them knowing. Was I really so easy to read?

"You drank that water bottle. I saw you. Why didn't you fall unconscious?" he continued.

"Did you know this would happen?!" I hissed at him. "Are you from that organization, too?!"

He stared at me.

"You know HYDRA exists."

It was a statement. It was like I had written something of my own doing and the man read it with concrete finality for the world to hear, a proof that I had thought of something and he simply said it out loud. I said nothing more, my body shrinking in further on the floor of the seat as I waited for the agents to sweep across the aisles. I swallowed thickly, feeling a shudder, feeling little vibrations that I knew where muffled gunshots the agents in black were using against the helpless and unconscious passengers of the plane. I couldn't see anything, my eyes being scrunched closed tightly, but I could feel, smell, and just hear it happening as they grew closer to where I was.

There was never a moment where I hated my enhanced senses than I did now.

Oh, God. Was this how everyone felt when they were trying to get away? No matter how powerful a person is, they would still feel helpless and paranoid because it would take just one moment for them to slip up to suddenly find themselves swarmed by their pursuers.

 _'They're going to catch me!'_

"Hey, listen to me." Rick shook my shoulder, jostling me out of my black hole of defeat. "I don't know why HYDRA is trying to get to you, but we're in the same boat together."

"So what?!" I hissed at him, slapping his arm away from my shoulder as I angrily snarled at him. "You want us to team up and hope to overcome the odds thrown against us?!"

"Exactly."

I stared at the lunatic with eyes wide and mouth dry.

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out some circular-shaped device that looked about as thick as short novel and could fit in the palm of his head. He showed me the item, letting me take in the thing properly.

"It's an EMP." he told me. "It'll knock the lights out, but only for a few short second so that it doesn't do anything with the plane's control panel—"

"That's all I need."

It really was all I needed to turn the tables.

Seeing as this was our last chance to fight back and gain some control, Rick nodded and moved his thumb closer to the middle where there was a button outlined at the central of the device. Pulling one leg up to my chest while the other remained folded to the crusty floors of the plane, my fingertips pressed down and I nodded at the other man that I was prepared to make my move.

The moment he pressed the button, I was already crawling along the ceiling.

My body could feel the agents, their vocals sending vibrations of the likes a person only felt when they were standing next to a booming speaker. Closing in on the grunting sounds of the dark agents, I looked down to see three standing below me, talking in another foreign language with hints of irritation found in their tone. Quickly, without the notice of the first two, I quietly knock down the third agent to the floor and quickly muffled him when he tried to scream. Knocking his head harshly to the floor, his struggle ceased and he fell limp in my arms.

There was a _click_ and light was cast upon my body.

 _'Flashlight!'_

Jumping out of the way, bullets rained down where I had been. I clung to the side walls of the plane before flinging myself away, watching as their guns flickered randomly as they tried to take me out.

Somehow, through the adrenaline and fear, I noticed something out of all this.

They weren't trying to capture me. No, if that organization had been after me, they would have come with heavy tranquilizers because small stuff like the drugged beverages wouldn't keep someone like me down. These agents were armed to the teeth, they were prepared to kill—

Rick and the woman. The only reason why I was involved in this was because of those _two_.

I threw myself to the next agent, feeling something go past my arm and my ankle before my fist collided with a face. Bones cracked under my knuckles and I ducked away just as the lights flickered towards me.

And then the electricity came back on.

Frozen, all guns were aimed at me from my spot on the ceiling, my fingers and feet planted on the surface that it must have painted quite a bizarre picture of what the agents initially thought they were up against in the darkness.

 _ **Bam! Bam!**_

Two agents fell, three others ducking away from where Rick had fucking pulled out a pistol from his coat and started shooting agents (how the holy hell did _that_ get past security?!). Distracted by the noise, I dropped down to the floor of the aisle and viciously wrenched an open tray that stuck out of the backseat and threw it at one agent's head. They flailed, taken off balance, before they too fell dead when Rick shot them through the face of their mask.

Unfortunately, a bullet made itself welcome in Rick's ribs.

The older man fell down with a yell, collapsing down the aisle. I reacted by jumping at the shooter, knocking the agent off balance and yanking them with a sharp tug, using their body as a shield when the last agent aimed their gun at me. I charged at them with a roar, throwing the limp body out of the way and crushing the one against a nearby open wall, hearing bones crack when they collided against the wall.

My breathing was heavy despite not feeling tired. No, the excitement of it all was making me feel jittery, like a high I had seen people develop when they rode on motorcycles without protection, hopped on wild rides from a theme park, or took off in the skies to jump out of a plane and descend back down to earth with a parachute waiting to be shot out of their packs.

My fear was at the back of my mind throughout the whole assault when Rick pressed the EMP. What I was feeling, I swallowed thickly, my throat still dry, it was something foreign and alien to me.

It made me wonder if this was a feeling Steve Rogers felt when he stepped out of that chamber, his body molded to become a superior man that would fight a war bigger than the boy from Brooklyn.

"Kid...?" a shaky voice called out to me, wet and weak.

Remembering what happened to Rick, I hurried over to the other side of the aisle, hopping over the fallen bodies of the agents and falling to me knees where the older man lied. His chest was covered completely in red, the fabric absorbing the blood and staining the ground. Despite not knowing who he was, what he was doing on the plane, or why he and the woman were attacked, I reached out and held onto his trembling hands.

I was not some cold person who didn't blink or flinch at the sight of someone dying in front of her, I was not some person who was always in control of her mind when crazy things started to happen all around her, and I was not a genius with facts and logic aiding her... I was an emotional, confused, and conflicted girl who was lost in some place she wasn't even suppose to _be_.

So, despite everything, I couldn't leave Rick alone while he was laying there, dying in my arms.

"Oh, God," I eyed his bloody chest, my voice rising in a shrill pitch. " _Oh_ , _God_! Rick! What do I do?!"

"L-listen to me," he spoke, voice calm despite the fact that he was practically bleeding to fucking death!

It only got worse when the plane suddenly rocked violently. I, along with the forgotten people hidden in the back of the plane, let out cries of alarm, and my eyes caught the sight of something bright flashing outside the windows of the airplane.

"Oh, my God! A wing's been blown off!" I cried, feeling the plane tilt dangerously.

And that when the plane began to nose-dive back towards the earth.

"HYDRA wasn't taking any chances." Rick said, voice so tired that he sounded like he was going to fall asleep.

I cursed. I cursed, cursed, cursed, and cursed some more because—

Freedom was right within my grasp before it was gone. It was more like a tease, something being waved in front of me to provoke me into reaching out and brushing my fingers against it, and just when I thought I could really grab it... it was gone.

" _GODDAMMIT_!" I screamed, tears pouring out like a fountain from the feeling of being cheated.

Not for the first time, I wished I had never left that apartment I shared with my brother. It was one of those moments where I thought things like, "this should have never happened to me" and "why is this my life now?". Because this was it, as much as I tried to deny it for the past several months, this was going to be a common occurrence for me as long as I kept running and running and running until my feet left behind bloody trails... or I just stopped and simply let it _end_ there.

I felt my body go lax, my turmoiled mind go still from all the static, and just let everything go.

The plane was falling from the sky, the surround sound of the hulking metal nose-diving through the clouds, and the screaming of the passengers in the back spelled out to me that I never stood a chance in a world like this.

"Listen to me," I blinked, my body numb and barely feeling the squeeze on my arm which Rick used to draw my attention back to him. "Listen to me!"

Reaching for the computer with his bloody fingers slipping a few times over the slick surface of his laptop, he pulled out a thick USB from the computer's side and pushed it in my limp hands. I stared at the item for a few long seconds before my eyes trailed over to him, my mind still not registering what this meant.

"HYDRA cannot win," the man said, blood trailing out the corner of his mouth as his breathing grew more wet and forced. "You... you have to make sure that HYDRA does not get away from this, thinking that they can continue on what they've been doing long after the war ended."

Why was he so confident that I would come out of this whole thing alive? The plane was flying over the Atlantic ocean and it was going to destroy the vessel the moment it hit the water. And like he had said earlier, we were four hours away from mainland.

I jerked when I felt a hand touch my cheek, blood staining my bare skin as my eyes focused back on the older man on the floor.

"You can do this," he told me, his voice growing quiet that it threatened to be overwhelmed by the noise surrounding us. "You have to live to make sure that this—"

He waved a hand at the aisle, his unconscious wife, the majority of dead passengers, and the fallen agents.

"You have to make god _damn sure_ these bastards get uprooted and exposed to the entire world." he gritted out, his teeth pink from the blood and saliva. "The world will go into a global man-hunt to publicly execute the parasites that had been hiding in their countries, their cities, their offices, their homes, their entire _lives_!"

Blinking, I stared down at the older man.

"B-but... I'm just..." I shook my head, my voice failing me as I looked helplessly at the USB in my hands.

It was like carrying a doomsday button.

I was beginning to have a semblance of understanding what Oppenheimer was talking about when he spoke solemnly about his Atomic bomb.

Should I survive this, should I actually walk out of this impact alive with the mission to expose the darkness hiding beneath the world all around, I would be the impending catalyst that would destroy the world the organization was trying to reshape to their liking.

( _IAmBecomeDeath_ )

"Hey," I swallowed thickly, looking back to Rick. "I know this shouldn't... this should never have come to your shoulders, but you're all I've got, kid."

My eyes closed, inhaling a calm breath as I felt my heart steadily rise as reason returned. When I opened my eyes, I met the older man's unsteady gaze, his blood spread so thick and wide that he was beyond saving at this point. I could feel his tight grip on my wrist loosen each passing second.

"Here," he placed something my hand again. "It's a safe house in Manhattan. Just find it, hide there, and connect the USB to the server. The password's on the back, and the computer will do the rest of the work."

"Okay," I replied, quiet and prepared.

"I'm sorry you got dragged in this," he closed his eyes, his words slowing down and slurring together. "... Can you put me next to my wife?"

Wordlessly, I carefully hauled him up and pushed him in the seat I had previously occupied before the whole fiasco began. Buckling him up, I pulled away from him and stood tall on the aisle.

If you took away the blood, the impending crash, the screams of the people, you would think that Rick and his wife were simply taking a nap with their heads tucked close together and their hands lovingly intertwined.

With no more words left to spare to each other, I grabbed my duffel bag, turned, and walked away. Each step felt heavy, my heart telling me to stop and try to save the innocent people on board (Rick was innocent, right?), but my mind wondered what could I have done to save them?

Absolutely nothing. That's what.

But, I thought with each bold step forward, my eyes growing hard and my body tightening up like a spring about to uncoil violently, I was not going to forget them as I would watch HYDRA burn for this.

( _andallthethingstheydidtohurtandkillanddestroy_ )

Stopping by the emergency door near the end of the plane, I looked down at the floor and pondered if it was possible there was an inflatable raft somewhere.

It was risky, this wasn't like an episode of MythBusters where there was a dummy involved, but if it was proven possible for a person to survive by using a life raft as a parachute when falling from the sky—well, I knelt to the floor and prepared to force open the compartment holding the inflatable life boat, I won't know until I try.

So easy it could have been for me to just wait for it to end, to stop the journey there and let things unfold as they did... but somehow, people, whether they be my own family, friends, or strangers I've just exchanged words with, were always giving me the same message:

"Don't ever take the easy path when it comes to the road of life."

From the new found strength I held in me, I forced open the bottom compartment (after tearing off the carpeted floor of the aisle) and was greeted by the sight of a neon yellow deflated life raft. Pulling the thing out, I gathered it in my arms, holding it close as I pulled out the last bit from the floor.

Another explosion rocked the plane, and I could still hear the wind whipping outside as the plane continued its path to a destructive landing. I didn't have a lot of time left, I had to act quickly before—

 _ **bang!**_

Something hot and sharp dug itself into my side, just below my ribs and dangerously brushing against my lungs. I stumbled against the plane's door, looking back to see a wobbly agent in black pointing a pistol at me. She (because I could see the dark eye shadow above her eyes past her goggles, probably the stewardess who tries to drug me with the water bottle), pulled out a oval-shaped thing in her hands, her thumb flicking to the top and—

 _'GRENADE!'_

With no chance to prepare myself, especially since I had been shot, I wretch the enforced door open and was immediately sucked out into the sky while barely missing the tail of the plane. Just in time, too, as the side of the plane exploded in fire and smoke that it split in half and began a wild downward spiral to the ocean. It was horrifying, something I had only witnessed on the news or in some action/thriller/war films. The cinema companies and rolling cameras could never compare to the up in front scene that burned brightly in the night sky that reflected almost beautifully on the surface of the ocean below.

There was no safety between me and this place I was inside, there was no parents, no brother, no family, and no friends to comfort me. There was no familiarity that would keep me truly grounded; I was alone, and it was just me against the world.

And what a scary world it was.

Seeing as I was dangerously close in falling to death by slamming into the ocean water, I spread my arms open to let the damn thing finally inflate itself so it would cease the speed of the fall.

Then, of course, my hold on the thing wasn't quite reassuring as the inflatable life raft threatened to leave nothing for me to hold onto. I yelped when one side of my hand slipped off due to the blood coating it (from Rick's or mine, I had no idea), my fingers on the other side barely hanging on until it too would be forced to slip away as the air continued to fill itself up.

With quick reflexes, I whipped my free hand up, two fingers pressed against the center of my palm while my index and pinkie pointed outwards. Aiming the familiar gesture towards one end of the nearly inflated life raft, I felt the tingly and new sensation of something bubbling on the surface of my wrist before it spat out something to connect with the intended target. Secured, I wrapped my fingers around the thin but strong string that had come from my wrist and connected with the tail end of the life raft, doing the same with my other hand.

A burning ache reminded me of the bullet lodged against my side, and I winced to feel something wet growing on the fabric of my shirt and sweater. Hopefully, I thought as I watched and listened to the plane finally collide with the sea water, there was something of a first aid kit tucked away somewhere inside the blasted life raft.

The plane was still burning, giving a glow and brightness that helped me see how far away I was from the ground. I inhaled as my body finally took a plunge in the ocean water, my eyes immediately shut closed to avoid the sting and I winced at the salt stinging my still open wound. Quickly, I swam to the surface and threw my duffel bag on the life raft, afraid of getting the whole thing entirely wet (I wasn't sure if it was water-proof material) before hauling myself.

I lied on the thing, shuddering from the feel of the cold air whipping all around and the slowly fading light that dimmed as seconds went by.

I had to go. I couldn't stay to be rescued, for no place was safe for me.

It wouldn't take long for the organization to get word, after a thorough investigation with the plane (making sure the people they were after were dead and gone, another target crossed out of their hit list), that there was a life raft missing.

The bullets, the body of their agents, and the autopsy reports would paint them a story that there was someone else they didn't foresee boarding onto the doomed airplane. And from there, it wouldn't take them long to connect the dots with the escapee back in Spain to the airplane crash here.

Remembering Rick's card, and fearing that it would it be wet and no longer legible, I pulled out the card and narrowed my eyes to read the words in the dying light.

I stared at the card, blinking a few times to see if I was reading it right, hoping to God the words of that man's passwords weren't what I think they were.

 **PETERPARKER**

This had to be one of the biggest, fattest, _ugliest_ cosmic joke ever told.

The organization after a man and woman who were aware of their existence, the intended airplane crash to ensure no truth would escape, a dying man's wish to be close to the thing he loved while making a stranger promise him that they would expose the organization that loomed over the unsuspecting child waiting at home for his parents...

A child who was now orphaned, and would soon find himself being taken under the wing of his aunt and uncle.

I let out a noise that was a cross between a laugh and a sob, lost on the joke thrown in my face.


	5. Fight Flight

Question: how would you honestly feel/react if some stranger walked up to you and told you that you were just a figment of imagination based off of a comic book that eventually turned into a saga which revolved around billions viewing your trials for their entertainment?

This is my pet peeve. There are some who can pull this off well, and there are most who just blow it out of proportions. I just cringe every time I read a story where a SI/OC comes in and blows the canon character's minds from being told that their entire lives was just fabricated and whose sole purpose was for entertainment. I just don't understand why anyone would go around telling people that, it would honestly make the canon characters feel suddenly self-conscious and just outright violated that their privacy was being viewed for all to see. Their struggles, their hurt, their intimacy, all of it just exposed for everyone to inspect like it was some live stream pornography that they never consented to.

Yeah, those stories just leave me feeling just, "No. Shut up. Stop talking. _No_." because holy shit, why do you even know these things that I've never even talked about those closest to me. Wouldn't that rub anybody the wrong way? So yeah, Self-Inserts and Original Characters are good and all, but I absolutely _hate_ when the character just blabbers out how they know absolutely every little thing about the person. If this is considered offensive, sorry, but I can't really change how I feel about how a story is written. I just don't like SI/OC's who dangle a character's life like it's a diary that they're reading aloud for everyone to hear and know.

(There are a few exceptions because some authors deliver it in vague ways by saying things like claims of being prophets/seers of the future. Or, in the case of fics from the anime or book category, the SI/OC would say they know the stories from a book they've read that is like a fairy-tale of the fandom's entire plot. Now those fics turn out to be real great!)

If anyone's looking for that in this story, sorry, you won't find that in here. My character is going to keep her trap shut because there is absolutely no way in hell she's going to explain to a traumatized Bucky Barnes how his hellish life in HYDRA was served as a plot point to progress the story of the MCU'verse.

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse than they already were.

Long after the flames had went out as the plane ducked under the choppy sea, I was lying flat on my belly while using a single paddle (that had been attached to the life raft) and started my long trek westwards. It wasn't going to be easy, being armed only with a duffel bag, a USB, a few emergency snacks, and only a certain amount of time under the cover of darkness to shield me, but I went ahead with it.

Air Traffic Control would undoubtedly be notified that one of their planes was down, and the skies and seas would soon be littered with boats and helicopters with search lights and rescue teams from the Coast Guard that went to search for the remains of the airplane.

I could just see it in my head: inside a home, where there was a family waking up in the morning, turning on the telly, and watching the story unfold as a hovering helicopter made a live coverage of the fallen airplane. I could see a little boy's face grow still with sickening realization that his parents won't be coming home for him.

I angrily slapped the surface of the lapping water, jerking away from the edge and letting out another frustrated sob.

Richard "Rick" Parker and his wife, Mary, were agents that were probably in the midst of exposing that organization before everything went to hell for them. Not only that, they were probably agents that worked with—I bit my lip, God I didn't even want to think about that other place, either. One organization after another, they were all the same to me (was it really no wonder why one of them couldn't tell the difference between a snake and an eagle?), but one of them was mostly working closely with a certain group that would come to be one day.

Still, of all the planes I had to hitch a ride on, it had to be _that_ one.

Life really knew how to fuck around with me.

Wincing at the painful tugging where the bullet had entered me, I was surprised I wasn't completely left immobilized. It was said that women had a high tolerance for pain (because of childbirth), but I thought a bullet to the gut was overdoing it a little.

 _'Or maybe it was the healing factor doing its work,'_ I thought as I stared down at my wet and clingy clothes.

Crawling along walls, ceilings, and other surfaces, superhuman strength, fast reflexes, semi-precognitive senses, and producing silk-like substance that was strong enough to carry my weight—the first time I found out I had powers was a few days after, or maybe, the days _before_ my escape. Like I said before, it was out of luck and opportunity that I had even escaped from that hell hole.

Returning to my belly to paddle along, I was counting on my strength and endurance to keep me going until I was truly out of breath and strength.

My stamina, thankfully, had quite a lot to offer.

I had a long ways ahead of me.

And much work to do, too.

After hours of brutal paddling, opportunity once again knocked on my shoddy doorstep in the form of a cargo ship heading west.

I was miles away from it, and I knew it would be long gone if I continued with my snail pace with the life raft, so it left me in a bit of a pickle of whether or not to abandon ship and make for the swim.

Daylight was just right behind me, clouds turning a bright pink with the sun threatening to illuminate everything. Again, wouldn't take long for the Coast Guard to gather their shit together and search the downed plane, and I needed to get to mainland as soon as possible. I looked at the dark ocean water, still thinking about that old shark film that would scare me and my mum witless from just the possibility of something unseen coming to eat you when you couldn't even run away fast enough (much less swim).

I looked down at my wound, pulling the shirt and sweater up to reveal scabbed skin that looked like it had taken weeks of proper healing rather than some recent gunshot wound. The bullet had been spat out nearly an hour ago, and all the internal aching I felt from my muscles trying to stitch themselves back together whilst pushing out the foreign object was just unreal. As soon as the damn thing got spat out, it became easier to heal.

These newfound powers were just useful as they were frightening.

Seeing the cargo ship grow farther, my mind was made up. I gathered the duffel bag, pushed the USB into some place I hoped was water proof, and then proceeded to stab the air out of the inflated life raft. I could not leave a lot of evidence behind, hopefully the thing will sink to the bottom if heavy enough with water to drag it under. Giving the murky water a hesitant look, a small prayer of safety, I leapt out as far as I could before diving into the ocean. Ignoring the tingling fear and paranoia of sharks lurking about, I focused on making it a race to see if my hand could touch the side of the giant ship.

I was tired and weary, but I pretended that I was in my high school back in California, putting more laps in the wide pool. My eyes were closed, my hands were stroking through the water with my palms flat to propel me forward with my legs kicking behind.

My brother was making faces underwater, mocking me with a wide grin as he gained the upper hand to swim ahead, forcing me to try harder. Some bitch, a girl who had been torturing me since the first week of attending the new public school, was on my other side. Her snide smiles and upturned nose did nothing but fan the flames, making me grit my teeth and kicking extra harder to stay ahead of her perfect-looking face that I so badly wanted to knock the pearly whites out of.

More and more images of people in my life came diving into the bright pool with me, making me work faster and harder to reach to the other side of the long pool, my hands swinging widely with my fingers reaching out to touch—

I could hear it, like deep and steady beats that sent pulses underwater. It grew louder as I kept going, the vibrations beginning to go deeper in my skin and just resonate with the entire skeletal frame.

Propellers of the cargo ship.

I looked, blinking away the salty water and looking how far I had come after diving in.

The ship was a couple of football fields away from me. All that swimming for who knew how long and I was just close enough if I swam another couple of minutes. I huffed, feeling the fatigue and heaviness from the swim and the weight of my duffel bag, but I was almost there. I was close enough to make it, I knew.

I dove back in, eyes closed and fingers still reaching out to feel metal.

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My head peeked over the rail of the ship, eyes looking for any signs of watchful cameras that kept track of the going ons of the area. I spotted a few people scattered about, some of them strolling about with steaming mugs of coffee to prepare themselves of an early start of work as they were only a couple hours away from mainland.

Ducking my head to avoid being spotted by a passing man, I rose out from behind the rail and climbed over it. I was soaked wet, but the puddle wouldn't raise my suspicion given as I had driven out most of the ocean water by hanging off the side of the cargo ship for the past ten minutes after reaching the side. Climbing my way up, around the circular windows, and carefully wringing out my clothes, I carefully tread around the area to find an unoccupied spot where I could lay low.

A heart attack nearly transpired when, while walking behind a couple of cargo containers, a duo of hard hat-wearing men stepped around the corner. I sprang up, barely avoiding being spotted by the oblivious men. A giggle threatened to come out when I realized I had just played out a Hollywood trick: the camera is trained on the central character of the story, and just when the audience thinks the person will be caught when the image swerves to reveal approaching nameless grunts, the camera quickly returns to the spot where the main character was last scene, only to find them having disappeared in inhumane speed.

Watching the passing two workers finally disappear, I let out a sigh of relief before carefully ducking back down to the ground.

After a careful hour of scoping the area, I finally found a small hiding spot where it was dark and small enough that the burly workers wouldn't be interested in looking to find anything there. It was a dark space between two cargo containers with another container stacked up on both to provide shade and cover. It was a tight fit, but it was better than nothing. The sun was beginning to peek over the ocean, a dark reddish-orange ball of fire spreading beautiful color pastels upon the sky. Growing up in a country where it was mostly cloudy and always raining than brimming with sunshine, sunrises were few and far between of an event that me and my mum enjoyed watching.

Looking at the sunrise, I felt both at home and quite lonely.

It's been over six months and I still think that people were looking for me from the other side. My picture probably plastered on missing people boards where I would slowly fade in the background over time.

And wasn't that sad?

You always see, somewhere from the newspapers to the boards pinned on the walls of some establishment, pictures of young children, teens, or adults reported missing. Somewhere in your gut you feel bad about what happened to them, along with their families, but really, you just don't care because it's really none of your business. What were the chances of anyone coming across a missing person? Very slim.

I was gone, and I would be a person no one really cared about because I was not their problem. The world wouldn't stop for missing people, it would continue to move on, just like the people will look at my photo and think nothing of it other than it was a shame.

My pity parties were the worst.

Barely getting any sleep from constantly being on the look out for anyone about to spot me wedged between a couple of cargo containers, the day came and brightened the day as more people began to wake up and start the new fresh morning. I glared balefully at the crew as they munched on their crispy toasts and crunchy apples that served as their breakfast, and from staring at the find-looking apple one guy was eating made me think of the emergency snacks I had eaten; bloody horrible stuff that I would recommend no one would actually eat unless there was really no other options.

I jumped and let out a yelp when the horns of the ship gave out, covering my ears as the air blared before finally silencing. I winced at the ringing in my sensitive ears, the vibrations of everything was enough for me to know what was going on half the time, no need to pull out a fucking air horn.

Seagulls began to flock about from above, their constant shrieking giving signal that the vessel was close to land. With a careful peak around—especially with the danger of being exposed in broad daylight where there was no shadows to keep me safe—I climbed up on a cargo and looked towards where the ship was heading.

 _'Land-ho!'_

A small sigh of relief escaped from my dry, chapped lips. I didn't know exactly where I was, but seeing the mainland coming closer and closer was enough to make me feel like a heavy weight had just been lifted off my back. I knew that the extension of the organization was vast and powerful, but I couldn't stop the feeling that I had just barely stumbled out of some dark, haunted forest that I had been clinging and suffocating me throughout the whole journey to get to the other side.

The whole downside to the entire thing was that I needed to make another swim.

The port would be full of people I couldn't really avoid, as I couldn't truly trust myself not to catch any attention. I was quite eye-catching, being a petite figure hauling a large duffel bag while trying to traverse through the area in a large hoodie sweater (in the middle of spring, might I add). There was also the possibility that I could be trespassing on property that they would apprehend me, or worse, call the authorities.

Better I wash up on the shores of the beaches where there would only be a few half-naked eyewitnesses that would brush off the entire thing being another bizarre story they would gossip back to their families, lovers, and coworkers.

Not too sorry to part from the cargo ship, I gathered the duffel bag, sneaked extra carefully towards the rail, then dived back into the salty water. From my resting, my tired body felt somewhat rejuvenated enough to make the swim much more faster to the beaches, but I had to be careful enough to first swim away from the cargo ship so no one would spot and report me (and probably mistake me for being a man overboard).

Sure enough, as I started to feel my legs touch the sand bed, I was getting some attention from the bikini-clad and swim trunk-wearing crowds.

I _prayed_ that no one would pull out a phone to snap a picture of me.

Several children floating on a kid-sized inflatable raft watched on with humor and mirth, not really understanding but giggling at the scene anyway. I suppose I did paint a funny picture to the little ones.

"Do you know what state this is?" I asked, smiling up at them from beneath my hoodie, trying to appear as some silly person rather than a terrified young woman on the run from a insidious international organization.

"Yer in South Carolina," a little girl with twin pig-tails replied, her voice soft yet thick from the accent all southerners had.

I gave quick thanks to the girl and a small wave when they cheerfully bid me farewell before continuing on their water rafting attempts (didn't you need to go to a river to do that?) while I finally started to drag myself out of the beach.

Normally, when I would remove myself from the water (while wearing clothes, on a rare occurrence), the body would usually feel heavy. Nowadays, I still felt light despite the heavily soaked attire and duffel bag. I quickly left the scene of the beach, avoiding running into strangers that would stop to look at me in puzzlement.

What did I know so far? I had met the parents of a certain web-slinging yet-to-be superhero (and watched them die a horrible death with very little help from my part), I was being hunted down by a dangerous group hell-bent on world domination, and I was _states away from where I needed to be_.

"This is just fucking fabulous," I mumbled angrily to myself, looking north where the place spread miles and miles of buildings and bustling crowds of people that were ignorant of everything that was going on outside of their bubble.

One day, however, those bubbles were gonna pop and leave them all scatterbrained once I reached New York City.

With the familiar weight of worry, paranoia, and reluctance on finding myself in these positions I really wanted to stay out of, I started to make my way through the beach city. Stealing was wrong, but when you were desperate enough, you had to sometimes bite your cheek and just go through with it if it meant that it would help you in some small way.

With some careful maneuvers, and very dependable reflexes, I had pinched a few new clothes from people that were unaware, some coins and bills off cafe tables and off guard folks that were probably unsuspecting tourists. I accumulated enough to buy me night in some motel and a small lunch from a nearby fast food (I would try and steal more money tomorrow before I would begin the long trek upstate).

Hours later, when everything went dark and the night lights sprang on to cover the beach city in luminescent beauty, I was sitting on on the edge of a tub while scrubbing my clothes clean with the motel's soap. I had showered earlier on after eating, feeling refreshed and cleaned up from the lukewarm heat that cascaded down my body. It felt like forever since I last saw a bath, traveling with the stink of sea water that I worried that the bloody gulls would mistake my smell for fish and peck my eyes out for it.

I was covered by the bathroom towel, my hair was dripping wet, and I continued to clean my clothes thoroughly with a small hum my mother would sometimes play for me and my brother when she was busying herself with something.

God, my shoulders slumped and my hands paused from their work, could I ever catch a break?

"—at the sudden loss of communications, the officials of the ATC tried to make contact with Ocean Airlines plane, Oceanic Flight 0422, but there had still yet to be a response. That's when they knew that something went wrong."

A cold chill ran down my spine, goosebumps alit at the wake of the unpleasant sensation. I had left the telly on because I wanted to hear noise rather than silence, and I had even left it on some entertaining show with Steve Harvey's humorous voice bringing some small amount of cheer.

Breaking news, I suspected.

I put down the bar of soap in the tub, rose up from the edge, and made my way back into the room. With feet like lead, I made my way towards the single bed of the room where it was illuminated by the telly, and finally, my eyes rose to meet whatever image was on the screen.

They were interviewing officials on one panel while the other camera was zooming in on the Coast Guards. Ships of all sizes bulldozing their way through the waters, heading straight for the plane that was four hours away from mainland, a map popping up to replace the images to reveal how far and how long it would take for them to find the remains of the plane.

 _'What did you expect?'_ a voice sneered at me with contempt. _'Of course they would know what happens within 24 hours! You think you can outrun something so huge that you get big-headed enough to think you can pull it off? Think again! If a competent specialist wasn't able to outrun them for long, what makes you think you can do the same?'_

Watching this, seeing this, hearing this, made me have second thoughts about this poor plan I only hatched up. Rick's dependence on me, his sure confidence that I would succeed what he could not began to wane and shrivel my insides, leaving nothing but the feeling I had felt when on the plane.

For Christ's sake, I was just a kid. I had barely graduated high school and was slowly integrating myself into college life before it was gone the moment I had stepped out of mine and my brother's shared apartment. I wasn't some super special person with unique skill sets, or incredibly intelligent to build things or outsmart someone to get myself out of sticky situations; I was a girl lost, scared out of my mind, and floundering on what to do next.

My legs feel like jelly as I sank down on to the poor mattress, the springs squeaking from the weight but I barely paid the noise any mind.

 _'No,'_ the voice continued. _'You can't run from them. And when they realize that you survived, they will **hunt you to the ground, little rabbit**.'_

I felt faint in the head, like the room was too bright and I was going to fall over to my side and just—

"This just in ladies and gentlemen! Mr. Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, has been located and is currently being hospitalized in Saudi Arabia! His return to the states is still undetermined..."

Tony Stark

Without meaning to, a scene played itself in my mind. The engineer held hostage was stomping down the underground tunnels of the terrorist base, arms waving the flames to set his captors ablaze, guns firing and failing to get a clear shot because the metal encasing his body was protecting him. He was a hulking figure, slow but going in a pace that allowed him to wave his flame throwers into halls and rooms to take out anyone who would think to make a sneak attack while destroying the place that held him captive.

When he reached the entrance, the place where it was the first time he had seen the light of day in _months_ , there was a weak and limp figure lying on the floor that looked out of place amongst the men who had tortured and forced him to create more of his own destructive weapons.

An old man, a doctor, another prisoner, a new friend—

 _"Don't waste your life."_

Tony's wake-up call.

It took a moment for me to realize that there were tears running freely down my cheeks.

"Tony Stark is saved." I said to myself.

Saying that name, _his_ name, made everything that had been buzzing in my head slowly cement themselves down.

I wasn't super resourceful nor was I smart, I was in a very dangerous yet delicate situation where time was not on my side, and I only had a few options left. I was going to finish washing my clothes to hang them out the window and let them dry, I was going to keep the USB hidden and safe, I was going to prepare myself for the next day, and I was going to make my journey to New York.

I was one person against an organization that was beyond my caliber, and it was going to take everything to stay ahead of them, but I had to try because—

If I really was a rabbit that they intended to catch, then there was nothing a little creature like me could do to stop them.

... But first, they needed to catch me.

And everyone knew a rabbit could outrun a snake.

(theytriedtocageabrilliantmaninsideadarkcaveandinsteadtheycreatedabeastwhohadenoughofbeingcornered)


	6. Hustle & Grow

Hi everyone! I know this story (along any other of my stories) have not been updated in awhile, but I got caught up with my own life that decided to drag me down and give me a freaking dry spell of writer's block. It sucked, I was unmotivated and lost my muse, school was coming and then it finally came and there was class work to start my week with. I'm so tired and I feel disoriented like I just got inside a rocket ship, experienced jet lag, landed and got out and feel like I landed on whole new planet. Anyway, I finally got myself to muster up what little creativity I had left in me to conjure up this chapter.

Let me be frank here, there won't be meeting up with any MCU characters for some time. I'm too disinterested to watch anything like Netflix Jessica Jones, Daredevil, Luke Cage or Agents of SHIELD because I'm one lazy-ass little shit. The future chapters will contain mostly about how to go about living on the run, not perfectly in any sense, but to put something because it would just seem way too easy for my character to suddenly show up in New York without putting up any effort on the how's and why's we usually feel in movies. So although this may seem redundant, I think it's a good way to build up the character on how she survives before we finally get to the main point where the plot further progresses into the action and suspense sequences we all want to see in our respective Marvel movies/shows. I hope you guys will give this little arc a chance before turning it away because you lost interest.

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

 **Trigger Warning! References to NON-CON! Read at your own risk!**

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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Hitching a ride on the roof of a semi trailer truck was quite the experience.

I was dressed in stolen denim shorts, peach-colored camisole, a red cardigan, some kid-sized tennis shoes that fit almost uncomfortable if I went ahead and wore socks with it, and a baseball cap I nicked off some unsuspecting man passing by me that didn't even feel that something was missing off the top of his bald head.

After getting some semblance of sleep, I had gathered all my belongings, dressed in the new clothes I had stolen while my other clothes had dried up in the bathroom. Morning for most was slow and some were barely coming out of the cobwebs of sleep, and it was during those times that I had pinched a few more money from them as they were left unguarded by the still sleepy folk. The money then went into use by purchasing a small breakfast.

Huddled up in the corner of a booth, I wolfed down my breakfast consisting of sausage, eggs, biscuits, and orange juice. The food settled comfortably on the bottom of my stomach, and I was sad to say that I wished I had more money with me to buy another round of breakfast, but I knew I couldn't waste anymore.

I had to reach the safe house in Manhattan, New York.

An hour later where it was near early evening, I was lying on the roof of a giant truck heading north. Now, I could have asked to get a ride, but being a young woman with some appealing looks, could a woman who was traveling all by her lonesome really ask for someone to give her a ride? Because I knew, through reports of television media and cautious stories from my mother and other women, that the ride drivers were thinking about was not the kind that I wanted to go along with.

So, hours of my hair whipping about wildly (and god, that was going to be a bitch to brush later), and keeping an eye on the road signs, I was resigned to watch the world go by me while simultaneously getting a bit of a tan. With a map I acquired (from the motel lobby), I kept track of the names and roads that would lead me to where I needed to go. I had a couple of days to travel, switching from one ride to another in the case that my form of transportation would be deviating somewhere off my intended direction.

Let me say this, it was pretty difficult to keep a low profile while on the highway. Passing cars on the highway made me feel so paranoid, the sight of a police car made me press myself more against the surface of the truck's roof, expecting any moment for the sirens to shriek and the blue and red lights to flash.

I couldn't imagine what I would do when I came across a stop light where there was sure to be cameras set up. I wasn't sure if they were there just recording every vehicle that came through, or if there was someone actually being paid to watch them so that they would easily call authorities to report any abnormalities.

There was never really a bored moment, too much adrenaline and fear keeping me from doing something. I was the kind of person who would like to keep myself occupied when traveling, such as listening to music or playing games on my phone, but such privileges were unsafe for the likes of me. The world was becoming more digital reliant that a camera from a phone could alert my presence to the people looking for me. I had to keep my head down and covered by a cap when walking into shops and restaurants, needing to keep my face away from the viewpoint of security cameras.

It was going to be so much harder the closer I got myself in more populated areas.

Something had to be done about my appearance to throw off anyone looking for me. My face had been seen by the organization, and I had an inkling what certain changes had to be made.

My hair was brown with natural waves (nothing too curly that it made it hard to brush it), I was told I looked angry or upset when set naturally, and I wasn't all that fond with cosmetic products, deeming them a waste of time.

This felt like some beauty make-over intervention my mother and friends would be more than happy to assist in turning me into a different person that barely looked anything like the original.

 _'Well,'_ I huffed as I saw the truck heading into a town. _'Time to get busy then.'_

Operation: Plain Jane was a go.

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Paying for a haircut and getting my hair dyed a shade closer to blond was expensive that I was going to find myself sleeping in the streets soon if I didn't find some unsuspecting people to pinch money from soon.

I also needed to buy make-up to complete the whole new look but I couldn't, I was getting hungry (thankfully, it wasn't bad that I could probably last another day without food if the situation called for it. Changing into some clothes from my back in the salon's bathroom, I walked into the day that was slowly turning pink as hours rolled on by. Soon headlights were shining brighter, shops and street lamps were illuminated, and there was few people but the night folk who had come out to play.

And by "play" I meant go out drinking in nearby grill bars.

Mum warned me about men having too many drinks in a bar, never the place someone like me should ever be if I was looking to be undisturbed.

But, as I looked at the price of their menu, they cooked a lot of food for a cheap price.

And I did need to keep myself full.

With a calm breath, I swung open the door, wincing at the cowbells from above the door frame, and took in the entire scene. It was like a classical bar scene in most shows or movies, except instead of seeming to be dinky and seedy, it looked welcoming and somewhat warm. There was still a group of men huddle together, being noisy and laughing raucously, but as long as they were all the way over there then I felt confident that I was would be mostly okay. Only a few eyes turned to me but quickly lost interest and focused back to their table mates, the chatter thrumming in the room left me feeling like I was somewhat safe.

Taking a seat in a corner booth, I picked up the menu left on the table and looked over the cheap price selections that didn't go over $10. Not long, a brunette waitress in short denims and tight shirt that showed a bit of cleavage strode over to my booth with a pad and pen ready.

"Welcome to Hog's Grill Bar, I'll be yer waitress Sid," she greeted me with a smile. "Would you like to start with a drink or do you want to start orderin'?"

"Club sandwich, please," I meekly told her.

With my paranoia, I hadn't talked to a lot of people except with my boss back in Spain and Arturo. It had been too risky if a lot of people made contact with me, the possibility that they could get hurt made me feel sick that I had to play the part of an aloof foreign girl who didn't like to associate with people. There had been a lot of nice people back there, an old woman who would give me some free snacks after helping her groceries, a loud and funny man who liked to make people laugh with his "tricks" in the fruit aisle as he cut them samples for their disruptive children to try, and kind-hearted Arturo who risked everything to help me get away...

"Wow!" Sid's eyes brightened when she heard me speak. "Yer English?!"

I stared at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly left open. From the span of a few seconds, I formulated a way to work around this new problem.

If I had any plans to get further away from my original self, I had to throw away everything that had been formerly of my old life. I had to change my hair, my face, my voice, and my personality.

Besides, I had been living in California for awhile that I could pull off an American accent.

"Er, what...?" I tried again, my accent changing to something a little raspy and low (and Northern). "Do I really sound like that?"

"Oh, ah, sorry," Sid back-tracked, shaking her head and pointing at her ear. "Must be the damn jukebox playin', I can't really hear well."

Sid and I shared a laugh, agreeing that it was indeed loud (and thank God for that). Placing my order and drink for the waitress to give to the establishment's chef, the brunette turned away with a smile and left me by myself.

Waiting for food could have been a lot less boring if I had a phone or laptop. It used to drive me crazy when I didn't have anything electronic on me to keep me occupied, but now—

"What's a young little thing like you doin' all by herself?"

I stiffened as someone—not Sid—pulled up next to me at my booth. He looked like the typical bar goon, all big and wide with a grizzled face and a ball cap on his shaved head. I watched silently as he slid up on the chair in front of me, his blue eyes glazed and body lethargic that it didn't take much guessing (and smelling) that he was on the way of being some drunkard arse.

If it wasn't for this whole running-from-an-organization business, I would have straight out kicked this fucker off my booth and sent his sorry mess on the way back to his mates, being sure to make a scene that the other bar patrons wouldn't dare think about bothering a super-powered girl like me. However, life decided that I needed to take the hard road and left potholes for me to deal with by pretending not to be some super-powered girl who could level the whole place if she so wished.

"I'm not looking for trouble." I said, watching him.

He laughed, it was small and quiet, but it left me a little incensed.

"Fuck, girly, calm yer tits. I'm askin' cuz ya look like yer ready to bolt or somethin'."

Well, he wasn't exactly wrong about that; I had to be ready to run just in case. Aside from the crass language, the bigger man kept his distance and simply let his gaze wander all over the room rather than doing the typical thing such as trying to see through my clothes with his eyes. When I looked around, I saw that it was pretty crowded and barely any chairs left for him to go occupy instead. In fact, the more I noticed, the more I saw that people startled to enter inside and head straight for the gathering crowd.

"It's connin' night."

I turned back to him, hearing him speak up and his eyes were trained on the rowdy group that were gathered where there was a couple of pool tables and dart boards. There was people with their money out and shouting their bets on whatever they were gambling for.

"That's a stupid thing to do, throwing money away for some game." I said.

"Well, that's yer opinion," the man shrugged as he leaned further into the booth, eyes still trained on the group with laser focus I didn't think he could pull off while buzzed. "But at the end of the night, someone walks away with a lot of cash tucked in their pockets."

My frame froze when the words registered.

"And by someone, I mean the same one guy."

"Oh?"

Sid returned to my booth with a small basket full of warm fries and two half-cut pieces of a club sandwich pinned neatly by a toothpick. With a cup of water placed on the side, I immediately took in the delicious aroma of the club sandwich, mouth blossoming with thick saliva at just the mere sight of food.

"Heya Coop, you botherin' poor kids in yer down time?" Sid greeted the man across from me, friendly to the fellow but her eyes flickered towards me with concern as if silently asking if I was alright in the strange man's company.

"Couldn't find a damn seat for myself so I charmed my way to this one over 'ere." the man—Coop—explained to Sid.

It _was_ getting crowded.

"Anything ya need, sweetie?" Sid asked, her attention directed towards me.

"I'm good," I told her. "Thanks."

"Just holler if ya need me." the woman said before turning to serve more customers waving for her attention.

While still wary of the man across from me, I focused my attention more on the crowds that became rowdy as time passed. Men gathered, all of them pulling out thick wads of cash as they watched a couple of men compete with darts. I watched as every dart used had each man reach for a tray full of shots, swallowing it quickly and trying again to hit the inner ring. One of the men, who was slim and shorter than his burly competition, was hitting his targets near the middle of the board while his companion either hit the other rings or just missed altogether, and it only got progressively worse from every intake of shot the man inhaled. It wasn't hard to predict who would win from that match.

Half the bar gathered at the other end groaned as they lost their money whilst the other half cheered. The short man walked away with barely a sway, his face smug as he was greeted like a hero to his mates, receiving pats... and cash.

"Fuckin' thievin' lil' shit." Coop grumbled, his eyes zeroed on the small man.

"Got some beef with him?" I asked, eyes darting between the two.

"That bastard only wins every time jus' cuz he's got a hoochie girlfriend who serves the drinks." he nodded towards the tall, leggy, and skimpy-clothed blond holding a serving tray, a bright and coy smile painted on her glittering lips.

"Didn't you say anything?"

There was no way anyone could have gotten away with such a scam so easily, but the look on Coop's face told me that nothing ever came easy.

"That little fuckard, Shep, has the place in his pocket. If he makes a lot of money, which he always does, he'll split it with the owner of the bar ... along with his other _friends_."

I looked towards the big, muscled, scary-looking bunch that accompanied the so-called champion. Those meat-headed giants would have deterred anyone, who had caught on to having their money stolen by the dodgy prat, from confronting the man. Coop and I continued to watch Shep strut around, almost having people eating out of the palm of his hands, and I could feel the anger brimming off of Coop in waves.

"How much do you think he wins a night?" I asked, voice low and quiet.

Coop didn't hesitate to give an answer, "Jus' 'bout a thousan' a night."

Ignoring the imaginary angel on my shoulder, screeching at me to stop and desist, the devil used her pitchfork to get me up on my feet and head towards the crowd. I didn't respond to Coop calling after me, his drunken footsteps stumbling from behind, and I didn't give acknowledgement to my waitress who kindly tried to stop me from going towards the scary crowd. I forced myself through the crowd, gritting my teeth as several men leered at me while the women made haughty laughs at my smaller form. I finally made it through the crowd, making it to the front where Shep and his crew stood.

My heart was racing like crazy, like bongos being beaten as the excitement of a moment came and captured the audience in suspense of the events about to unfold. Shep's wrinkled and grizzled face looked to my direction, his hazel eyes catching me and he knew immediately I did not belong, just as most of the patrons noticed my presence sticking out like a sore thumb. His lips broke out in a crooked smile, rattlesnake boots coming off louder as he walked across the boarded floors towards me.

"You lost, honey?" he asked, eyes tracing me and I felt my insides squirm.

"No, she's not." I heard Sid speak up from behind me, her hand grabbing me by my upper arm. "C'mon, sweetie, you're foods almost ready. Don't wanna leave it cold, do ya?"

That earned a round of laughter from the people watching, looking at me like I was a little child (funny how they thought that but most of them felt differently, if the way their eyes trailed over my form said anything). I never ordered another meal, but as much as I appreciated her care for my safety, I needed to do this. So, I didn't budge from Sid's insistent tugging.

"You're pretty good," I spoke, my voice low but Shep still heard. His eyes went towards the dartboard, a curl at the end of his lips told me he was very proud.

"I get that a lot, honey."

"And you get a lot of money, too." I added.

By now, a lot of people were beginning to understand my intentions of being here. I spotted Coop in the front of the crowd, watching with a glazed over look, surrounded by people who snorted at the concept of some dumb little girl challenging a pro.

"Sorry, baby girl, but I don't got time to play..." Shep looked over my head towards Sid, already dismissing me.

Before anything more could happen, I stepped forward and yanked out a fifty dollar bill. Eyes on the bill, I slowly stepped around him and towards the girl who held the money, offering it up like a sacrificial lamb to begin my trials against a demi-god. She hesitated, eyeing the money then looking towards Shep.

It looked like Shep needed motivation.

"Come on, man," I said turned to the other man. "If it makes you feel better, I'll chug a bottle of Johnnie Walker to help you get ahead."

Another bout of laughter came from the crowd, Shep's face morphing into something condescending behind the teeth he bared at me with a sharp smile. He walked up to me, eyes locked to my own while he moved right into my personal space as he pulled out a couple of hundred bills out.

"Lady's first." he nodded his head towards the dartboard.

Now I've gone and put my foot in my mouth. Just because I had superhuman strength, agility, and webs didn't actually mean I could possibly walk away from this situation scot free. It was always a very bad habit of mine, something that just happened when confronted with arseholes like Shep who took advantage of people with their scheming ways.

I once got in a nasty spat with a girl for harassing a poor and incredibly shy child that it almost came to blows, but it resulted in me being bullied so much that my family had to change schools for my sake. It felt like the coward's way out of an ugly fight, the number of girls pecking at me as they sided with that one girl, me against half the entire school, but it was like a breath of fresh air when we moved away. There was also the incident in which some knob head had been making unwanted sexual advances on women at the workplace, and when I had enough and called him out, threatening to report him to a higher up (like my dad), he turned out to be some high-ranking official: it resulted in me and my father having to go to court. I will never forget how incredibly furious my dad was, saying that he knew my intentions were good, but it almost costed him his job had it not been for the several brave women who stepped up to support us and win the case (also resulting on the pervert's quiet discharge).

This was my fight. No longer was there adults or back-up to pull me away when things got bad because this was me stepping up for myself for the first time. Coop, still being someone I didn't want to be alone with, had lost his money unfairly by the prick standing close to me (breathing down my neck and trying to see down my shirt), and I was not going to stand for it.

That, and this Shep fellow had a _lot_ of money I could put to better use.

Taking the offered red darts some arse-licker pulled out, the tray full of shots was shoved to my face by the skimpy-clothed blond (who looked like she had spit in my drink for being in the same vicinity as her boyfriend). Praying that the metabolism in my system was working extra hard, I grabbed the glass and quickly downed it, wincing at the burn that coated my throat that I feared I would throw it back up.

"Need something more watery, baby girl?" the blond asked, voice like saccharine, but contempt and haughtiness found in her eyes and fake smile.

"If this is your strongest brand, hunny-bunny, then this is gonna end badly for you and your sugar daddy." I replied, focusing on the dartboard rather than my throat that felt like it had caught on fire.

So far, the alcohol had no effect on me other than the painful feel of something sharp dragging itself up and down my throat. Eyes on the dartboard, I pulled my arm back, narrowing on the target, then whipped it forward with my fingers releasing the hold and letting the dart fly—and land way off course.

"Yer right, sweetie," the blond snorted from behind me, the crowds laughing at the spectacle. "This is gonna end badly."

I said nothing, watching Shep step up, grab the shot glass the blond handed to him (after exchanging some gross eye-shagging with one another) and turned to the dartboard. He stepped to the throwing line, tossed me an exaggerated wink, then proceeded to throw his dart which hit near the center.

Having watched and observed his stance, his hands, and the way he threw his dart, I stepped up and grabbed the shot glass and chugged it back. Second round was just as awful as the first, but still, no effects to hinder me. The crowds behind me didn't both with exchanging money, just entertaining themselves with watching a little girl stumble over in the man cave. It burned a great fire from within me, a memory of me being left out of games by my brother because I was a girl who couldn't keep up with the boys... that I should stick to my dolls and make-believe fantasies.

What a load of crock.

I mimicked Shep's move, aimed for the dartboard, and let it loose. It felt awkward, something I knew from beforehand should have used time to practice before going on handling the big leagues, but there was no time. Despite the awkward throw, the dart landed much closer to the outer circle of the bullseye, on a black single. Shep's first dart had landed on a double, giving him a lead, and I knew what I had to do if Shep landed another double.

Another shot in his gut, he threw his dart... which unfortunately, as I had predicted, made it into the double. I could hear the unsubtle talks and jabs coming my way, some even booing as I stepped up to take my last shot.

As I focused on the dartboard in front of me, all I could think about was that I needed to win. Not for just the money, not just for pride, but because this was going to be the first tentative steps of being ahead of something bigger than me. The old me, while strong-willed, was totally naïve. The harassment at school, the close-call in the court room, and the near-death experience on the falling plane, every adult had to step in and push me forward to get to safety; two years away from being an actual adult and I still needed the adults to save me, but no more of that. Sid, the good waitress, was not going to become another one on my list.

With that in mind, I pulled my arm back, whipped it quickly forward and let the dart fly in inhumane speed until it struck true to its course.

All the mockery, jeering, leering, laughter, and general noise immediately died as they slowly began to register where the dart had landed. I turned towards the crowd, my face betraying nothing. Shep, along with half the entire bar, looked at me as if I had grown an second head.

"Lucky shot." someone said.

If that was the case...

I stopped the lady who held the prize money, not removing my eyes from the opponent in front of me. A swell of something in me festered and grew, a feeling all too new as I watched the man before me squirm slightly under my sharp gaze.

"Let's go again," I told Shep, mimicking his girlfriend's sweet smile. "You seemed really attached to that money."

There was a shift in the air coming from the crowd, some murmuring like ancient political figures sensing a doom in their emperor's incoming downfall of this new person who dared to challenge a man who praised himself a god, Shep did not hesitate to pull out more wads of cash and hand it to the girl. The small twitches from his fingers told me a little of how unnerved he was, his own eyes on me as he whispered something in his girlfriend's ear.

The blond left and soon returned with new filled glasses, and catching the scent of the glasses, I knew half the shots were much more stronger than the last. I said nothing, playing along as Shep gestured for me to take the first drink and aim.

Third round of letting the liquid version of sharp nails and bolts in my mouth felt much easier the first two times. The alcohol still did nothing, my mind was clear and my eyes were focused on the dartboard. I internally let out a laugh as my dart landed inside a triple, the volume of distress increasing on Shep's face, his girlfriend shifting nervously on her high heels as she too felt the shift in power. It really did feel like a Game of Thrones happening inside the room, the crowds becoming a court of lords as they saw their leader getting overwhelmed.

When it was Shep's turn, his aim landed him just a shy of landing on a triple, giving him a single. Coop's voice reached my ears, his drunken slur nearly gone from sobering in shock of the performance, as he placed a bet on me; that was when people started to take their bets seriously, a small portion betting the little girl over the champion, but some of Shep's loyal followers felt that the first time had been a lucky win.

Of course I dragged them a peg or two down when I landed on a double.

Shep gave as good as he got, landing on a double, but he was going to find himself another few hundred dollars short from his wallet as I landed on the outer ring of the bullseye. The game was mine, once again.

Second time defeated, Shep looked downright baffled. I swayed on my feet, leaning on nearby tables to make it look as if I was on the verge of collapse from mass consumption of strong beverage, but that probably didn't look too convincing for them. I was only acting like so from memories of my brother getting hammered from parties or visits in the local pubs/bars.

Again, I didn't take the money offered by the girl, just giving a condescending smile as I nodded to the dartboard. "Let's make this more interesting!"

"Interestin' how?" Shep demanded, voice tight. I walked closer to him so that my voice wouldn't reach the spectators.

"You pour the strongest drink you got on my side while you stick to your girlfriend's kid friendly brew." I nodded to his girl.

"I dunno what the fuck yer talkin' about—" Shep barked, but I cut him off with a finger to his face.

"You get your lil' girlfriend to pour the strongest brand to try and save face," I told him. "Because I'm going to milk you dry of all the money you're gonna lose tonight."

By now, Shep looked like he would pull back and take whatever money he had with him and leave, but that would mean his pride and face would be trampled and he would be known as a pussy by his peers. His reputation as the winner tossing him down the food chain, his schemes unfolded before everyone's eyes as he was beaten despite every tough alcohol thrown my way.

"What's the matter, pal?" I said out loud, letting everyone hear. "Too chicken? Can't put a couple thousands dollars down to put this lil' bitch back in her place?! _Pok, Pok, POK_!"

Crowing like a chicken seemed to do the work. The patrons called for both my blood and for Shep to man up and win the next round. I spotted an awful eye twitch going on, the corner of Shep's lips curling in a subtly snarl that I knew he wanted to wring my neck. My confidence and bold mannerism was rubbing him the wrong way, riling him up so bad that his manhood was being called into question by the court of drunks.

"Brenda!" he called his girlfriend, giving her a look that she caught on. She scarpered off, ready to pull the bitterest, gut-wrought, dirty drink she would serve to me.

I pulled away from him, smirking all the while, leaving him to squirm. He pulled out all the money in his pockets, roughly pushing them in the other girl's hands. His girlfriend— _Brenda_ —returned and, quite rudely, pushed the three glass shots in my hands.

"Lady's first," I stepped away, letting him have the first try.

He was none to please with having his words thrown back at his face.

This was such a rush, though, poking buttons and leaving them to look like idiots for the entire crowd to see. I had often seen it in the movies or telly, wishing for myself that I was just as bold and witty as they were. Now, I was living it, and I _loved it_!

( _everyone'sasavagedeepdown_ )

Shep threw back his head to swallow _all three_ of his shots. Not caring if he was breaking the establishment's shot glasses, he unflinchingly threw them on the tray and aimed for the dartboard ahead of him.

"Let's do a little change up, sweetheart," he said, voice rough and low.

He let his hands fly: first dart landing in the outer bullseye ring, second dart landing in the triple ring, and the last landing in the double ring. Overconfidence was a bitch, first it was your friend then it left you high and dry as you faced the consequences.

Shep stepped back, his anger brimming but his swagger full-blown as he strode towards me, his head ducking low enough so that his quiet voice would reach my ears only. The bar was filled with an uproar, people already losing their money because of Shep's lead in the game, but I could still hear him like a siren in the quiet neighborhood streets.

"I put all my money's worth in that, so when I say I'm gonna milk ya with all yer worth... I'm not just talkin' 'bout the money anymore, sweet baby girl."

A feeling of sickness overcame me as I let the words sink in, my tongue almost tasting a bile rising from the back of my throat at the thought of being forced to eat my own words by—

"You try an' make a run for it, I'm gonna hunt ya down, honey." Shep warned me, hand gripping me tightly on my wrist under the guise of handing me my darts.

He pulled away from me, leaving me standing like a statue with a deer caught-in-the-headlights appearance. I knew I was stronger, I knew I can take on a small squad of armed people (if given the right circumstances and cover to do so), but still... the thought of someone coming to hurt me by trying to claim dominance over by the use of rape? Didn't matter if I could lift weights bigger than the world's strongest man and still not break a sweat, it was a terrifying thing to hear come from someone's mouth.

"Hey, step it up, girly." the betting girl nudged me, breaking me out of my dark spell.

 _'Don't let that get to you,'_ I shook my head, stepping to table holding my tray of shots. _'You may be the rabbit in this den of wolves, but you can still run!'_

I let all three glasses slide down, my tongue accustomed to the sting as the harsh liquid came in contact with the wet appendage. I took a moment to catch my breath, steady my heart, and allow myself to tunnel my vision on the main goal.

I was here to win, to survive, and to eventually break myself free. Once I reach Manhattan, I will let the world know, and everyone will fight whilst I finally took a step down and allowed myself true rest.

No more running, no more hiding, and no more being afraid.

Shep was nothing.

( _histhreatsarewordsYOUarethethreat_ )

I opened my eyes, and with no hesitation, I let my darts fly.

 ** _thunk! thunk! thunK!_**

All three stabbed viciously in the center of the dartboard. I bared my own teeth at the crowd, heart pounding as I said,

"Now give me _my_ money."


	7. Beautiful Lies

Hello, hello, _hello_! Did you guys enjoy the last chapter despite it having nothing to really do with the plot of MCU? I hoped so, it made my insides warm when I read one reviewer thinking of my character as such a badass. Also, I noticed no one seemed bothered about the OC's lack of name and biography. Well, to be honest, that was intentional and all because I do have a name for her, a face, too... but I like to keep some stuff secret. Though I'll be happy to share some facts:

She's 18 (I know in the last chapter I said she's near twenty, but isn't that like the age of adulthood cause despite 18, the word teen is somewhere next to the number, along with 19), she's not American (you can obviously tell from her slang), and she has Spider-Man abilities (that was a given, but I wanted to be clear in case someone people are confused).

Now that everybody seems to be in the same page, shall we move on? Again, no MCU action like you want, this is gonna be another filler where she's traveling to get to New York. Also another chapter where there's a lesson to be learned, almost like a cartoon episode, yeah. To be honest, that's what most of the fillers are going to revolve around, not just a lesson but how she learns to survive from every situation she comes across. Hustling to earn money, check that, now what's the next thing to learn for our girl, hm?

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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Sitting inside a comfortable bus that crossed into the upper states was infinitely better than having to treat myself like some bumper sticker on the topside of a bus. For one, my hair would no longer turn into a rat's nest from the wind, I didn't have to constantly hide from patrol cars, and it provided some minimum cover. I still wore a ball cap and sunglasses to keep myself hidden from whatever camera installed inside the bus to keep me off the radar of people I really didn't want finding me.

I would have loved to say that after winning the money from Shep, I walked out of the bar with my head held high and a skip to my stride.

Sadly, that didn't happen.

Losing his cool, the man furiously came up and roughly grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me like I was a lapdog. He was screaming in my face, demanding how someone who had drank nine different hardcore beverages could stand so straight despite my wobbling.

Bastard even admitted to spiking two of my drinks.

Before more damage could be done, Coop swooped in and landed a blow to Shep's side with a battle cry, and immediately the whole bar went ballistic. Chairs flew, fists connected, women and men screamed and shouted, and many bodies tangled together like a violent rave party. I quickly grabbed the money left on the tray the betting girl left behind in her haste to get away from the danger, quickly stuffing the crumpled dollars in my pockets before high-tailing it. When I got to the entrance, Sid ran to me with my duffel bag.

Thankful for all her kindess, I stuffed a couple hundred dollars for her, because she seriously earned it and probably didn't get paid enough to deal with that kind of shit.

Then off I went, running to the nearest bus stop I had spotted earlier afternoon in the area, purchased myself a ticket, and climbed aboard.

There wasn't a lot of people on the bus, and I made sure to seat myself in the furthest and most isolated part of the bus where I was sure no one would bother me. Had to be extra careful now, how I kept my money because there was a huge chance that someone would see me as a target for pick-pocketing. That, and there was the off chance someone would be looking for unusual things such as someone who wasn't wearing a bikini making for the shores of a beach many hours after a horrible plane crash. Social media could really be a bitch, but that was to be expected in the age where technology would quickly control people's daily lives.

Next stop was right in the border of Maryland.

Close to Washington.

Closer to _them_.

Looking down at my attire, I knew that dressing like some runaway wasn't going to help me shake off any snakes going after my trail. So, the moment the bus reached it's stop, I was going to head into the nearest shopping center, purchase some moderate and unassuming clothes, dump my (mostly stolen) wardrobe in a nearby Goodwill store, and finally erase my existence.

( _it'slikesayinggoodbyetosomeoneyou'llneverseeagain_ )

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Alexandria looked like the buildings I had seen when playing Assassin's Creed III, the red brick houses erected with almost antique-looking buildings, it gave an atmosphere besides historical.

I couldn't dawdle for long, sadly.

Buying a suitcase was easy, the kind that hard and air-tight to keep my clothes dry even if it fell into the water. Slowly filling it up with clothes I tried on before concluding they would do, I collected an array of undergarments, fit jeans, shirts, sweaters, a couple of shoes, and some skirts with matching blouses (I had to use all manner of clothes to immerse myself). Buying a room for the day in a crappy motel was the best thing I could do, I was hungry but I honestly didn't feel like chewing on some snacks I purchased from the bus station.

I made sure to hide the USB and suitcase in different places in case there was sneaky staff members looking to steal stuff off of me whilst I was outside. I was dressed in faded jeans, sneakers, a light blue buttoned top with short sleeves, and a caramel brown leather jacket. Stuffing a couple hundreds of dollars in my back pocket, I stepped outside and began to explore.

Everything was different. It was silly to think that, I knew, yet I couldn't help thinking of it after everything that's happened to me. Being first born in England, everything was cloudy, damp, and there was the vast green spread out from the village I used to live in. Then dad had transferred from the Royal Air Force to the American branch, moving everyone all the way to the sunny and dry state of California. My pallor form suddenly suffering from constant sunburns until I grew used to the sun that I developed I nice tan from it after spending enough time outside in lighter clothes (though honestly, I could have done without the earthquakes).

And then everything turned to shit after ending up _here_.

Escaping from the cold Ukraine mountains, traveling through the forested and back roads of Germany, disappearing into the cities and streets of Spain—there was never really a moment for me to stop and enjoy the new surroundings. Not for me, anyway.

Window shopping was a hobby of mine, looking around to see whatever caught my eye before I either had to be dragged away or risk losing my money because I was impulsively buying junk I really didn't need to hoard. The Lord knew how many times my mother got after me for it. There was people out and about, and it seemed like a lifetime ago how I didn't even bat an eyelash at crowded areas... now I was left paranoid, always looking over my shoulder for signs of men in dark gear stalking me.

My focus on looking out for anything out of the ordinary caused me to almost run over a petite, curvy woman.

"Sorry!" I startled from bumping into her, hands out as if trying to steady her in case she fell back (which she didn't).

"No problem, ma'am," she said before her mouth split in a fake smile. "Would you be interested in our cosmetic products? We also include facial masking, eyebrow trimming—"

Shopping in the malls for the newest trend in store was not something I was ever interested in. My girl friends (along with a couple of boys who just wanted to go GameStop or Foot Locker) always dragged me with them to have me either be a guinea pig for their dress-ups or just needed a pack mule since they figured I might as well make myself useful. The girls would chatter and explore, going through many brands then moving onto the next. Every now and then, people who occupied the walkway of the mall offered perfume, souvenirs, and any other knick-knacks that would get a passerby's attention.

We moved along, politely declining with feigned regret before scarpering off elsewhere.

Automatically, I was going to decline the offer. I found it useless and a waste of money, but I quickly stopped myself before my voice reached out of my mouth. Seeing a reflection of myself, I almost wanted to punch myself in the face.

I looked like I did all those months ago. My aunt told me countless times I had a natural beauty about me, something that didn't necessarily need makeup, but she did add that it would amplify it should I try to wear lipstick and eyeliner more often. Back then, I snorted at her attempts to turn me into a more feminine woman, pushing my nose further into my comic books, manga, or battling with my brother on our shared game console.

Now, I wondered...

"Ma'am?"

I turned to the woman in front of me, her posture straightening when she saw the interest that stirred in my eyes. "What does the facial mask do, exactly...?"

Thirty minutes inside the beauty shop, I'm leaning back on a chair with the entirety of my face mostly covered in black paste. Acne and blackheads were a kid's worse nightmare when experiencing the early stages of puberty. My face was blotched with ugly zits that my brother teased me about (though he was no better, his face was a crater from his pimples), I hated showing up in school with my ugly appearance. Other girls hid the hideousness of it behind their make-up, but I wasn't so lucky. Thankfully, the acne rash that had humiliated me throughout secondary school began to fade over time as my hormones settled down. It only helped a lot later on when mum got me and my brother a small acne kit to hasten the process of getting rid of our ugly marks because of the constant grief we gave her and dad.

Then came the blackhead problems.

"Okay, the face mask should be dry enough for us to peel off."

Bianca, Mandy, and Megan were three women who worked in different stations of the beauty shop.

Bianca worked on cooking up a facial mask appropriate for anyone, just giving one look at your face before advising what the customer needed to do to create a healthy look for the skin. She had simply placed me on her station chair and immediately got to work on my face, putting the cool paste and instructing me to wait. She was nice enough to turn my seat to an angle where I was free to watch the television playing re-runs of Smallville.

Mandy was the next station that did the eyebrow trimming. Needless to say, I really needed it because while my brows weren't so out of control, I wouldn't pass getting some better work done on them. My mum and aunt complimented on my eyebrows having an arch that gave me a look of sophistication.

"You're gonna look good when I finish." Mandy said as she removed wayward hairs that pinched above my eyelids.

It was a good thing that my pain tolerance had reached new levels, no longer getting watery-eyed from the stinging sensation that came from plucking hair. I relaxed as Mandy took her time in removing each hair from both my brows until there were perfectly trimmed to her liking. Next came Mandy's sister: Megan. She was the makeup artist.

"You have such lovely cheekbones, girl. You need to accent them a little more."

She went to work right away, applying a creamy lotion that matched my skin tone and spreading it all over my face. Then she pulled out her brushes and worked on my cheekbones, mumbling about how she was going to make my cheeks more noticeable with foundation and blush. I got nervous when she brought out a black pen and went straight for my eyes, forcing myself to hold still so that she wouldn't end up accidentally poking my eye out.

"Don't worry, sweetie, you're doing just fine." she laughed, noting my nervousness.

After that nightmare was done and over with, she worked on my eyelashes, the mascara making my lashes seem longer. Pulling out more brushes, she painted over my eyelids. I kept my eyes closed the entire time, letting her do what was best.

Finally, I felt something soft and cold brush against my lips. Opening my eyes, I watched Megan paint my bottom lip with a light pink peach lip gloss that had a glossy, glimmering look, none of that childish glitter makeup most young girls had. I rubbed my lips together, spreading the lip gloss. Megan pulled away to put away her things then returned with a mirror in her hands.

What I saw reflected back to me was someone I barely recognized.

There was a woman. Beautiful, classy, and more older than she seemed when her smokey eyes returned their gaze towards me. Lips plump and tempting, cheeks more pronounced from the blush, and skin flawless.

( _whoareyou?_ )

"Wow, Meg," Mandy complimented her sister, coming over from her station as she looked me over. "You look like right out of a magazine, miss."

The woman in the mirror was not the same girl who was running for her life, who was scared out of her mind, nor was she pitiful as me. She looked cool-headed, vain, confident, powerful, and potentially wrathful.

A memory popped up; a memory of me sitting in one of my many classes in community college. A teacher from my sociology class was giving a power point presentation and explaining how society had views about aesthetically-looking people. A beautiful little girl was more likely to be dismissed from causing trouble when she was in fact the perpetrator of said trouble whilst children who didn't have the innocent cherub look were often pinned with blame. Another example was a study conducted, multiple interviews on beautiful lovely-looking women who shared the common story of being pulled over by a police for whatever traffic reasons before being let off with a warning rather than receiving a ticket.

A few students in the class laughed, many of them confirming that they, too, had gotten away from being given a ticket by playing sweet and using their womanly charms to soften up the police officer enough that they would be dismissed.

Beauty was a distraction, it was a literal mask you painted on yourself to change what was hiding beneath, it was a mask to captivate the audience on the character portrayed while the person stringing the act remained undetected. This was going to be a tool that would help me hide deeper, darker, and more safer from those hunting for me.

"It's lovely," I said, my brown eyes moving from the mirror to the two women. "Thank you."

I spent nearly two hours in the shop, talking to the three women as they helped me hand pick some makeup items and facial masks to continue maintaining a beautiful, flawless, and smooth appearance. I listened carefully as they explained ways to mix up the make up applying, observing as they used doll heads to illustrate what I could do with the products. When I walked out of the shop, I didn't duck my head or look over my shoulders as I did on the way through the streets. I walked with my head held high, I kept a casual gait in my steps, and I feigned a smile when some men greeted me, not hiding their interest as they watched me go.

They were expecting to find a wide-eyed, haunted-looking girl, so their eyes would not be able to see a woman easily walking by them like another pretty face on the streets.


	8. Language of the Flowers

Last chapter was short (and aren't most of my chapters thus far?), but I think we get to finally have something a little exciting happen. No, sorry, ain't MCU plot, just another life lesson chapter for our protagonist, but I'm hoping it will be exciting for you readers! The real exciting stuff I suppose will start in two or three chapter away, but until then, this stuff is gonna take up most room here.

Just so you guys know, I had to look through a bunch of youtube videos and some wiki links to do the lazy research of the next step to our protagonist's need in surviving. There will be mistakes abound, so read at your own risk! Enjoy the next chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** MCU belongs to Disney and Marvel Studios/Comics, I only claim ownership over my Original Character(s) and a little bit of the plot!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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I caught a huge break in the guise of a cook.

Waiting for another bus to make a drive through Maryland (brushing dangerously close to DC) and Pennsylvania which would take me straight to the state of New York, I stopped at the sight of a distressed-looking plump Hispanic woman with four children running around and seemingly driving their mother to hysterics. In her shaking arms was what looked to be a heavy ice chest, and she was snapping rapid Spanish at her children being a nuisance with all their running amok. Hesitant to approach, but feeling awful the longer I watched the scene, I quickly hurried over to her and took hold of the other side of the handle, slightly relieving the heavy hold she had.

"Gracias a Dios," the woman heaved a great sigh, giving me a tired small with small beads of sweat coming down her forehead. "Thank you, mija."

"No problem," I shook my head, following after her while tugging my suitcase along. The ice chest wasn't heavy for someone like me, but I pretended to struggle a little none-the-less to make the picture more convincing. "You heading somewhere?"

"Sí," the woman nodded after waving away one toddler that was tugging incessantly on his mother's shorts. "I have to take this to my younger brother, who is waiting at the next block, to deliver the meat to his BBQ shack he has up in New Jersey."

"Why couldn't he meet you here? Why isn't he helping you?" I asked.

"He got held up by his boss because the truck he's using is for business only, and his boss is also un pendejo!" the woman spat, clearly not on good terms with this boss person she spoke ill of.

"What a jerk," I remarked, earning a small laugh from the lady next to me.

With quick time, we made it to a small restaurant that smelled of mouth-watering ingredients looming over in the air, and as we approached, a man, almost a plump as the woman carrying the other end of the huge ice chest, meet up halfway. The brother—I guessed—froze when he saw me. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, a lightning strike of fear bolted down my chest and spine, and I wondered if this was where I was founded out. But then—

"Hey~, chica..." there was a leer in his face as he greeted me.

Of course, I thought with a blink and a sudden wash of relief, I was just a pretty face for him to admire. After that trip in the cosmetic shop, I visited a local library that allowed free computer use for a limited amount of time, and I observed carefully of the makeup tutorial videos and beauty techniques from the internet and Youtube. I tested my looks when I went out, I occasionally interacted with a few people to build up my confidence, and I went inside bars to work my new charm on distracted patrons. It was difficult trying to not panic when some drunk came to close or got aggressive, but I had to remember that I was not some weakling or helpless girl.

I was a woman of power, I was a blooming flower, and I was a poison painted petals to ward away filthy hands that sought to pluck me.

Easily enough, with my oblivious attitude that had men underestimating me, I was winning their money through their drinking games and challenging them to dartboards. With my charms and finance boosting, I was killing two birds with one stone. I visited different pubs and they all were pretty much the same, and like all the other places, I was painting a target on my head because the men that challenged me lost their humor from them losing their money.

Which was why I found it a good idea to split now before somebody followed me back and went to seek revenge for having lost to a doe-eyed hustler. Hey, if they were such sore losers about it, they didn't have to waste all their money trying to win back their fragile masculinity after losing to me in every round they challenged me. Whatever, I was the one who walked away with pockets full of Benjamin's.

"Miguel, behave," the woman snapped, irritated from the sweat and long haul she had to make to deliver the meat. "Here's your carne."

"Sorry, sorry," Miguel huffed, coming to my side and grabbing the handle. "I'll take this, thank you."

"Here, miss," I went to the woman's side after Miguel took my handle, wanting to relieve the load on the older woman. "I'll take it for you. You must be tired."

"Oh, gracias mija." she sighed in relief, finally letting go while Miguel and I carried the ice chest towards the back of a pick up truck.

"You're strong, chica," Miguel grinned at me, his skin was darker than his sister's as she was a bit lighter, but I caught a few similar traits between the siblings. Same eyes, same nose, and same cheeks. "You work out?"

"Yeah," I nodded, pulling up the ice chest to the back bed of the truck.

"Monica never mentioned you, I would have love to met you sooner." I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes at his obvious attempt to flirt with me, and thankfully he did not take it as an insult.

"I watched your sister struggle to carry this here by herself, so I invited myself to help."

There was a flash of genuine guilt on his face, but before he could act or say anything, a hollering voice from within the restaurant reached our ears, and our heads turned to find a man walking towards us. He was older than the woman, Monica, with his faded blond hair turning white, and his skin a bit on the pale side, and dressed in a somewhat professional manner that did not overwhelm him of the heat going on.

Just like Miguel, the older man paused and I felt nothing but disgust when those pale eyes rolled over to my legs, to my waist, taking their sweet time until those laser-focused eyes landed on my face. I raised a single brow at the lech, face blank but my eyes expressing my displeasure. Sure, Miguel did something like that, but he wasn't being a total sod like this bastard standing in front of us was. I now know why Monica was all claws and teeth when she spoke of her brother's boss.

"Mr. Connelly?" Miguel spoke, thankfully interrupting the staring. "I got the meat, so I'll—"

The old man snorted, "You really think a business will go well for you, Mike? Don't kid yourself."

Miguel stiffened up next to me, and I just glared hard at the old man's head, hoping it would combust or something.

"You need to wake up and face reality, _ohm-bray_ , because without any hire help out there, you're business will be over before it even starts."

Now I was outright gawking like a fish at the fart's open racist and demeaning trash talk he was dishing out to Miguel. Instead of going for my first instinct of walking up to the absolute bastard and slugging him good, I paused when I heard two words: hired help.

"Are you offering jobs?" I whipped towards Miguel.

The short-haired man jerked, eyes wide like a startled deer. My question was out of nowhere, but he straightened himself out when he realized that there was a possibility of showing up his boss who was humiliating him.

"Hey honey, if you're looking for a job, I got an open spot ri—" the old cock strode towards me, but I struck a hand out towards his chest without touching him, and the older man halted in his approach to look down at my open palm.

"Excuse me, I wasn't talking to you." I spat at him before returning my attention to Miguel. "I'm actually looking for a job. What does this business of yours entail?"

"I-I'm a cook." Miguel stammered but coughed to compose himself quickly. "I'm starting a restaurant over in Ocean County. I got two other people, but yeah, I do need some more hired help."

"I'm good at working behind the cash register, remembering orders, and I can mop and sweep the place." I told Miguel, hoping that this would impress him enough to consider it.

He didn't even hesitate. "Hey chica, if it means getting more help, you're hired."

The strangled sputtering coming from beside us made Miguel and I break out into positively devilish grins. My light skin clashed against Miguel's darker tone as our hands clasped together in a professional handshake. I could hear Monica giggling madly somewhere in the background, finally seeing an upside in her bad day when she witnessed the racist bloke being dismissed.

"I hope you don't mind if I tagged along with the ride," I said, gesturing to my suitcase.

"No problem."

And that was how I landed myself a new job after Spain.

( _soclosesoclosejustalittlecloser_ )

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Over three hours was how long it took, but I spent most of the time looking out the window, listening to music, and listening to Miguel.

Miguel Castillo wanted to start up a restaurant after his old man's own had been shut down. Financial issues were the worst, but moreso when it came to wanting to use all the money to help a sick child. Miguel's father didn't regret using all his money to save his youngest daughter, Miguel and Monica's baby sister who was in high school, but the son could never forget the sad look his father had when he closed his building for good.

With the family recipe holed up, Miguel followed his family's cooking techniques, worked in a variety of restaurants such as Chinese, Middle Easter, and Italian, and dipped a little in English (that one made me sit up a little in my seat), so he learned a lot of recipes over the years. Every day after school, he would go to work and earn some experience before going home to experiment in his mother's kitchen.

I laughed so hard I almost wet myself when Miguel told me of an incident about how he made such a mess in the kitchen that his mother pulled out the dreaded _chancla_.

It was around almost late in the noon that we reached Ocean County, and the city lights were twinkling with brightness as the night life started to come alive. We rode along the beach line until we had to go over a large bridge that led to the Barnegat Peninsula since the restaurant was somewhere at Seaside Heights, and I looked out to see the waves rising and clashing. The radio station eased down on the music and began the radio talk that reported weather and traffic conditions to anyone in the vicinity of the broadcast. And then the topic turned to the biggest head-turning discussion that made me look from the window and towards the dashboard where the radio was framed.

"Stark's Weapon Industries is being shut down! Like, holy crap, guys! That guy's lost it! He's really lost it!"

"Assholes," I muttered at the radio, glaring at it like I could pretend I was glaring at the person on the other side.

"You don't think Stark's insane?" Miguel asked, not in a manner that he was agreeing with everyone was talking about but more like he wanted to hear my opinion on the matter.

"No." I shook my head. "He... Like he said, he watched people die by the weapons he created. He was out there, taken in captivity by radicals, and he must have been through a lot in the last three months he was there. He saw _things_ , Miguel. So when he escaped, when he got back home, what do you think he was going to do?"

Miguel was silent, eyes on the road, but I can tell by the daze in his eyes he was really thinking about my words rather than brushing them off like most people would do when in a political or social debate.

"And that stuff they're spouting about him losing his mind? Stark just watched his escorts get killed, he was taken hostage, possibly tortured. And what? Did they expect him to come home _fine_?" I scoffed, glaring at the radio when the talk host continued on with his ramblings. "When you enter a war zone, whether you're a civilian or not, it doesn't matter, situations like that don't discriminate: you end up coming out different after seeing and feeling horrible things done to you."

( _ohyouknowthatdon'tyou?_ )

"What do you think's gonna happen to the military? Won't we start, I dunno, declining?" Miguel asked as he pulled to the next lane, and I saw that there was a massive boardwalk on the side that was connected to the beach shorelines.

"The US military has more weapons than most countries, so removing Stark Industries out of the equation won't dent it." I replied. "The military has more funds that if you remove even a small fraction of money, it would still continue to thrive without trouble."

"And... what about Stark Industries?"

I shrugged. "They're very technologically advanced than most other companies in America, so I wouldn't worry too much of the direction it might take. Stark's a smart man, he'll find something that could be beneficial for everyone and take off from there."

It took a moment for me to realize that Miguel was staring at me with surprise.

"You know a lot of stuff, don't you?"

It was a harmless rhetorical question, but it still made me freeze up a little. I hoped I didn't give away too much. Thankfully, because we were at a red light, a car behind us honked and Miguel jumped when he saw the light had turned green and that he was holding up the lane behind him. The sun already ducked in the horizon of the west by the time we arrived to Miguel's restaurant, and we both hopped off the truck to get both my suitcase and the ice chest off the back bed. In no time, the meat was placed inside the establishment and I took my time to scan the place with a critical eye.

The restaurant was placed between the streets and the boardwalk that led to the beach, so two entrances for people to go through when wanting eat, and it was in a sort of style that was like a bar and grill place. There was wooden benches, but there was also tables that had two wooden high chairs for people who just wanted to keep mostly to themselves. There was also booths against walls that could be used for families that wanted to keep away from the crowd to cause less inconveniences if their children went wild. The ceiling was high but it had a couple of fans spinning to keep the air in here cool for customers from the heatwave coming outside during daytime, and at the very corner of the entire place was the kitchen.

Miguel showed me the machines he purchased through his money, and the dishwasher, and the supply closet where there was stored items such as cleaning supplies, another storage where we placed the ice chest full of meat in with the rest of the food supply stored inside. Then he showed me where there was an upstairs that led to an office.

"This is neat, I like it." I said, giving the entire place an appreciative look.

"Yeah, this place won't open up 'till Monday though," Miguel informed me. "I gotta go back to Virginia to drop off the truck and then catch a bus ride back here."

I just nodded, still looking around and taking the beautiful view of the beach where several lamp posts were illuminating the path for people walking by.

"Hey, I never actually got your name." I blinked, also feeling surprised myself.

In all the months I had been here, no one actually asked for my name. And... it had been such a long time since I said it out loud.

( _alreadyforgettingwhoyouarelittleflower_ _?_ )

"My name is—"

( _theywillfindyoutheywillcatchandtheywill **killyou**!_ )

"Anemone."

I inhaled shakily, a crack in my perfect mask as I spoke.

"My name is Anemone Wakefield."

I was a woman of power, I was a blooming flower, and I was a poison painted upon petals to ward the evil that sought to take me.

On the way here, I decided to stay low and slow down on the road to Manhattan. Those people were on my tail, there was no doubt, and if they were the clever bastards I knew they were, they could be waiting for me in New York. Those agents had been sent to kill Richard and Mary Parker, and it would come to their attention that there was an extra passenger who was not suppose to be on the plane. With the near miss back in Spain, and the the Richards having also come from the country, the dots would be connected and they would be waiting for me.

So I had to keep my head down, play normal for a little while, try to immerse myself before taking off again. Besides, I thought as I parted ways from Miguel in order to find a cheap motel for me to hole up in, I needed to learn how to cook. Box dinners did not count. It would benefit me, this job, in watching the cooks prepare food to serve for the customers. Miguel had years of experience, and I hope he would be kind enough to teach me should there be time between serving customers and keeping the place squeaky clean.

Here's to hoping that Miguel won't ask for my non-existent social security number or my identification since I have none of those on me.


	9. Food for Thought

There's a little bit of plot development finally getting into the story. Yay, but still no action until a few chapters, boo~!

Someone asked about possible pairings, but I honestly haven't really thought about it, too much invested in trying to get a feel for the story, how "Anemone" is processing in this new world she is in, so she really has no time to be looking for love interests. And honestly, in her situation, I'd think she would regard the people in this world as "characters" because that's all we saw them as when watch the movies, right? Actors playing a scene that it convinces us they're almost too real, but now that she's here and really breathing in the same oxygen as them, she sees that as these faraway people, so romance is not in her view (until MUCH MUCH later!)

So far, she's doing okay, right? Not to easy, working a bit, learning stuff here and there, and there's still much for her to learn because so far she's been relying on her webs and reflexes. You know what's bothered me a bit in all of the Spider-Man movies? Like, they don't anger me, they just leave me in a state of confusion.

Like, how the hell did some nerdy kid learn how to fight like he's a martial artist who moves like a gymnastics champion? In ALL the movies, Peter just suddenly moves like he's been fighting for years without so much picking up a boxing glove in his life! Like, in the first Spider-Man movie, the one with that actor Tobey Maguire, everything moves slow motion when normal people attack him, I can understand that part in just sidestepping out of the way, but doing kick flips and awesome blocks and killer punches, that a bit pushing it in the realm of possibility, no? Sure, I get that anybody bitten by a radioactive spider become all flexible, super strong, fast as hell, and get spider senses, but how does that help you require fighting like a pro?

So yeah, this chick here ain't taking the easy road. She's got one advantage already (well, two, if you count her powers), and that'll come up later in the story in her journey to become a stronger person who can rely on herself to fight back when the danger comes knocking on her doorstep. Anyway, enjoy the next chapter, I hope you guys like it!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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Miguel said I was fastidious.

Jerry said I was nimble.

Marco said I was efficient.

Sonya called me an overachiever.

Two weeks in the Dinin' Dash Shack, there was very little business because of it being new to the locals, and people weren't sure what to expect from it. But with Miguel, Jerry, Marco, and Sonya working in the kitchen to serve food, it was up to me and another girl, Leslie, to help cater to the needs of the hungry customers.

Leslie just graduated out of high school, being the same age as me, so she was looking to earn money to use as her tuition fee for school.

Speaking of payment…

As I had feared, Miguel started asking questions which resulted in me lying. I didn't have any papers or ID on me, just the clothes, toiletries, and USB in my suitcase. But because I was being a paranoid freak about it, I made up a believable story that explained why I didn't have a bank account or credit/debit cards on me. Thank God for always watching those documentary shows on the telly.

A stalker ex-boyfriend was the story to go with because it was the most real thing any woman could go through when it came to horrible relationships. My imaginary ex-lover was abusive asshole who was controlling, demeaning, threatened me, and had connections with the law to prevent me from seeking out help. Funnily enough, this story wasn't actually all that made up considering my situation. I truly was being hunted down by people seeking to experiment, control, and erase my existence by reforming it to their cause. I had to change my appearance, talk in another accent, and avoid anything that worked with the law that could link itself to the organization.

Miguel took my issue very seriously as I hoped. With the promise to give my payments in cash since I couldn't trust myself to create a bank account in fear it could lead the organization straight to me in some way they only knew how, my troubling circumstances of lack of papers was almost immediately dropped. The others were sympathetic to my plight; Leslie even confided to me when we were both cleaning up a table together that her older sister had nearly been pulled into a toxic relationship with her abusive girlfriend had it not been for their protective mother.

So, with just two waitresses and four cooks, we all had a lot on our plate.

I worked behind the cashier, wrote down orders from the menu displayed beneath the glass on the table counter, and alerted the cooks of the customer's order. Leslie went around cleaning tables, writing down other orders when customers wanted to go for another round of food, and running back and forth to bring extra plates and utensils for people who needed them.

Not one to stand idle, I pushed in doing other chores: I served drinks, I refilled packets of mustard/mayo/ketchup in their designated buckets for customers to reach in and pick up, I went back in the kitchen and scrubbed the dishes and utensils clean when it was slow, and I prepared the cleaning supplies when closing time drew near. I also went on quick runs to get more supplies by a local food supplier store Jerry hooked Miguel up should he run short on clean cut meat and ingredients.

Sonya once said to me I worked like I drank an entire pack of Monsters because of how tireless I was, and not finding anything to say to her, I allowed everyone to assume I did. I was like a robot; I was always cleaning, scrubbing, mopping, waiting, and serving for every customer that walked in hungry and left the shack sated.

Miguel was ever thankful about how much effort Leslie and I were putting to make it easier for him and the others to spend their time in the kitchen and cook hot meals. It still didn't hurt to hire some extra hired hands when the restaurant started to grow in the number of people that were very pleased with our fast but well-cooked work.

Eventually, two people came to Miguel with job applications, and Miguel interviewed them both for what they could offer before they were hired.

Joshua and Gabby, teen cousins, were quick to catch up on the routine Leslie and I made when switching places to make it easier for us both when one of us was tired (which was mostly Leslie, but I pretended because I needed to be seen as normal). Joshua, Gabby, Leslie, and I rotated with one having to work the cash register, two taking orders, and one quickly cleaning up the tables before heading back to the kitchen to clean some more.

Tips were collected off the tables, people came and went, Miguel's restaurant was becoming a place for regulars to come and greet you like they were old friends, and I never got tired of looking beyond the boardwalk and towards the beautiful beaches were there was surfing and swimming and playing.

It made me miss the California beaches (and it made me miss home; my real home).

Slowly as the two weeks passed when it made the rest of us get accustomed to the routine we developed to make it seamless for everyone, I finally got the chance to go inside the kitchen and ask Miguel if he could teach me how to cook.

He was a little surprised by the request, but he agreed to it. I had been helping his business by taking great effort in cleaning, catering, and keeping things in order, so he saw no reason in denying me a chance to learn.

Things started out a little difficult, me being one of those lazy children who relied on her parents or chefs from other restaurants to cook meals, it made me regret not paying attention when my they had been trying to teach me.

I wrote down the recipes that Miguel gave, watched carefully, took specific notes on those, and then observed a customer eating it with delight. And then it was my turn to try it.

It didn't come out as decent-looking as Miguel's, but the person who ate it gave me a thumbs up for my trying efforts.

From steak, to fish, to shrimp, to pasta, to chicken, to pork, to turkey, and to dough, I slowly learned various recipes by watching them come to life by Miguel's professional hand. Even on the weekends, which were slow days at certain times, I took opportunity to experiment under Sonya's careful eyes because the weekend was where Miguel counted money and prepared paychecks for his workers.

The tips left behind on table tops were from generous people who liked the polite attitude service I instructed the waiter and waitresses to use. Jersey people were a tough crowd to deal with, especially for an English like me who was often told to keep it proper when around people, but everyone and myself had to endure the whole kerfuffle that occasionally broke out. Through the whole thing, the staff behavior greatly affected the customers because instead of a couple of dollars waiting on the table tops as we cleaned, there was five to ten dollar bills rewarded to the waiter and waitresses.

Outside of a few spats, things were mostly alright on my end. Miguel and the others, however, expressed some concern when they noticed how I never took a day off from work, like, _ever_. Because business was still new, everyone was busy to keep it growing as a new trend in the neighborhood, but every now and then people took some time off to relax for a day before returning. The need to drain away the exhaust from constantly working in the kitchens or dealing with unruly customers for long hour shifts was tiresome, but because I wasn't exactly normal, I was never really bothered by the stress that came from work.

My increased stamina was a new talent, something of which I took great appreciation in helping me get myself out of dire situation that required a lot of outrunning from the dangerous people chasing after me. Three days without sleep, days without food, and my body was still going at it like an unstoppable locomotive train at full speed. The threat of danger always keeping me on my toes, prepared for the inevitable.

A few hours every day of the week was not going to put me down, even at my laziest state of mind.

I was getting paid in the proper way, something I hadn't done since Spain, I barely visited seedy bars to collect more money, I was growing accustomed to the use of makeup like a young girl getting used to wearing bras, and I was also learning how to talk like a local. The further away I was from my nationality, the more better off I would be without it.

Almost three months later, everyone finally had enough and forced me to drop from work, all of them ganging on me together and demanding I took a much needed break for myself. In Sonya, Jerry, and Gabby's helpful words, "Get your scrawny ass out in there!"

Needless to say, I was going to go against the orders of the people who wielded their serving trays and spatula like swords and shields. Making sure to keep everything stocked, from supplies to preparations for them to clean up, I clocked out and headed back for my motel room.

New Jersey was a place to enjoy the beach, even as it was getting cooler over time, and I thought about taking advantage of it by going out for several miles of running. I needed to stay in shape, I needed to stay focused on keeping up with my strength and agility because who knew when the next run in would be.

So, jogging it was.

Buying some jogging attire wasn't so hard to find, new athletic sneakers helped, and a hoodie jacket not only to block out the cold, but to also help keep my face hidden. There was still people who carried their smartphones on them, and I could accidentally photobomb someone from the background, and my face would send out a signal for all the eyes looking desperately for their missing little science experiment. The best I could do while running out was keep my head down, my hood low, and my eyes up for danger.

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Wearing my dark blue shin-length yoga pants, a matching sports sweater with the blue hood over my head, and white running shoes with my shades on and my hair pulled back in a messy bun, I ran down the boardwalk after locking up my motel door. It was starting to get much cooler, and there was less people visiting the beaches which meant Miguel's business would be slower through the fall and winter seasons until next spring would put back up. By then, I didn't doubt Miguel would have more people helping him in the cooking and waitressing.

Miguel was a total flirt, and it annoying to Sonya and me, but he was practically harmless and knew when to back off when we had enough. Anyway, as bothersome as he was, the man was alright in my books. He kind of reminded me a bit of Arturo, always working his arse off to make money and do right for his group (and family, if the phone calls in his office were anything to go by), and he was helping me out of a sticky situation without truly realizing it. It pained me terribly to use him like that, as a shield to protect myself from the bad lurking outside, but it was all I had.

One day, when this was over, I was going to come back and do right by Miguel and everyone in the shack. And not just him, but Arturo as well. It's been so long since I had last seen the young man, and I prayed to God he and his loved ones were safe from harm's way. Yes, when all this hunting was over, when all this hiding in a hole and keeping everything under tight control blew up in the bastard's faces, I was going to return and make things right and better for everyone who had been involved with me since I came to this world.

It was the least I could do after everything I had done. The plane crash was my fault, and there was a little boy grieving for his dead parents.

Should the day come that I cross paths with that boy... I was going to tell him— _everything_.

It took a long time for me to begin pouring some perspiration, the skin on my legs and collar growing damp that I could feel the liquid slide into my bosom. My hair grew dreadfully sticky, my body beginning to grow hot from the work out, and my breath slowly growing heavy as the long hours ticked by. Even with my attire being mostly covered up, the skin my shins and my hands being the only thing bare, it was apparently enough to be perceived as provocative to the men. Annoyed, I pushed my shades closer to my face, and I inhaled sharply when I saw some of them pull their smartphones out to snap a picture of me. The fucking pervs.

Juts a bunch of losers who would later wank off when they were alone. _Ugh_.

Tired of the arseholes now beginning to take over the boardwalk, I started running on the sand. It was more challenging than running on solid concrete things. My feet threatened to sink in, the grainy sand slowed me down, and it dared my muscles to actually work for it. I loved it. This was going to leave me sore and tired, but it was just the thing I needed to get better.

I remembered running for my life in knee deep snow, my legs cold and wet but my body on fire as it was desperate to get away.

Preparation was key to my path of freedom.

"Hey baby, wan' some?" a male called out, running close behind me in his sweater and running shorts. "Hey, didja hear me?"

"Go fuck a blow doll, loser!"

My patience with the cat-calling made me spew nasty things over my shoulder, and I bolted the moment I heard the man hiss behind me. Smirking when the idiot tried to run after me, I laughed as I left him in the dust, getting further and further away to hear his explicit insults fade in the distance. A man's ego was so fragile, always crumbling away so easily after their posturing was thrown in their faces, always resorting to physical fights in order to make up for their shattered masculinity. If I hadn't been on the run, if I wasn't trying to be so careful with everything I did and whoever I made contact with, I would have dared that man to actually try and assault me.

I would have dared him to try and him me because I would promised to return the favor tenfold.

Time to change the scenery.

I went from the beach, to the boardwalk, and towards the wide sidewalk of the small town that stretched across the peninsula of New Jersey. I wanted to simply run without anyone hassling me in clothes that shouldn't be a neon sign for men to think I wanted to have sex (really, how did my clothes give a bat signal on that?). I was running and running—until I almost knocked someone over because something caught my eye.

No longer standing on the sidewalk, I was sitting inside a movie theater with my brother, uncle, and several of my older cousins. My eyes were glued on the screen, ignoring the pack of chips offered up my cousin, too mesmerized by the big screen of the man looking back at me. The audience held their breath it seemed, all of them waiting as he had paused until finally, he said these four infamous words that still stayed with me after a decade,

 _"I am Iron Man."_

A brush against my arm startled me back from the darkness of the movie theater and into the reality of the sidewalk. I was staring at the television screen sitting on the other side of the glass from the store selling electronics and smart telly's. The people who had also paused to watch seemed baffled, not looking excited as I had felt, so giddy like a child seeing a superhero on the big screen. To them, this was Tony Stark making an announcement, looking smug as the reporters all shouted, all demanded answers, all of them wanting a piece of the man who wore the iron mask.

This was another reminder that this man was not RDJ, this was not the actor, this was not the poster boy of a big movie franchise. This was a living, breathing, existing person who flew in an actual suit or armor, and he was going to take on the world with it.

This was a man who said he was not afraid to fight. This was a man who afraid of a challenge.

But I had seen what happened to such a proud and brave man like Tony Stark who was walking off the stage with all the swagger in his stride. I had seen how he was going to walk away from his fights with a limp, how he was going to walk away with a heavy weight on his shoulder than he already did after Afghanistan (after Stane), how he walked away with shame after something he thought he himself created alone brought a city up and crashed it back to the earth.

( _yousawamancrawlawayafterhisheartwasbrokenbya **shield**_ )

And one day, the whole world was going to show Tony Stark just how serious they took his challenge.

... but what if it didn't have to be that way?

The USB I hid away in the motel room was lying there, waiting to be used once I reached Manhattan. I was literally holding a doomsday button in the palm of my hand, waiting to be pressed to unveil the basket full of hissing snakes hidden away.

But those snakes will bite before people could reach for their weapons. Those snakes will explode and make the fight an utter mess.

Richard Parker said that the USB held all the information of that organization that if I released it, there would be a global manhunt.

But when I clearly looked at it, when I looked beyond the horrific image of the bleeding man that was dying in my arms and I was helpless to do anything to save him, his wife, and the other passengers on board, I thought about it really hard.

What if, in some possible way, the information leak would backfire by exposing _everything_?

A friend of mine used to watch Agents of SHIELD, and he told me how after the Black Widow leaked high security out to the public, not only did she expose the ones hiding under the public's very noses—she also unmasked the traces of many loyal agents who had previously worked for SHIELD before secretly retiring to live normal lives, or whatever came close to it. And it wasn't just the agents, my friend said, they probably went after the people closest to them: friends, spouses, families.

Everyone was free game.

No longer was I holding a button to destroy the organization, I was possibly holding something that could potentially kill _everyone else_.

People already died because of me, I was not going to make the same stupid mistake. I may be trying to save my own skin, but I would never put other people in danger if I could help it, and this time I could help them!

No longer able to jog some more, I turned around and headed back for the motel. It was miles away, but the way back gave me time to think properly of my next plan to put in motion. An idea took root in my mind, it was an idea that was so beyond me, but it was the kind of idea that would make it possible for this to actually work. It was going to take so much risk and effort to pull it off, but by the end of it, it had to succeed.

I had to.

The USB was a device used for computers, and there was only one person I could think of right now who was really good at computers. I just prayed that the USB would be to irresistible for them to want to find out what was hidden inside.

There was horrifying possibility that he would throw away the USB without looking into it, probably thinking it was some weird fan or stalker fangirl trying to give him videos or pictures to detail about their obsession... Which meant I had to convey the desperation of them needing to actually take a look at what the USB was hiding inside by a way of something a little extraordinary.

The problem was: how does one get Tony Stark's attention without exposing themselves to the self-proclaimed billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist.

This needed a lot of thinking.

* * *

The next day when I returned to work, I was in a sort of autopilot mode. Sweeping the whole floor while Leslie mopped after me, Gabby taking charge of the register while Joshua took care of picking up the dishes after the customers left. I was so unresponsive, too lost in my thoughts, I barely registered the playful insults thrown at me by Jerry or Sonya.

How do I get the USB in Tony Stark's hands?

He was literally the only man who could do this. His father, the late Howard Stark, was a founding member of SHIELD, so the man had to know an inkling of what was going on behind the scenes. I could take my chances with Peggy Carter, but I had no clue where she was, if she was being watched (which my instincts were saying: hell yes she was), and if she could even trust me. So, that idea was way out of my league. Besides, she was back in London, I wasn't going to take another risk after that last disastrous flight. No thank you.

Besides, it wasn't like I could make an appointment with the billionaire. He was pretty busy with his new suit. Flying all over the place, tracking the shipment of his weapons before landing, taking it out of the hands of the black markets and whatever weapon networks people had these days, and just destroying them. If the recall of Stark Industries wasn't enough to get the other people going, Iron Man would hurry the process.

Because I had a lot of money, I used it to purchase a large flat screen telly to install against the restaurant wall. There was a lot of appreciation coming at me in waves from bother the staff and customers. And since I was the one who bought it, I got to pick whatever channel first of what I got to watch.

It was no guessing game what I chose to watch.

With the news on, it was like I created a spark of political commentary when the customers watched Iron Man fly. Pictures from satellite images to shaky camcorders were used in news reels.

Iron Man was spotted in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Africa, Germany, Italy, and several other parts in the world, destroying every remnant of his weapons.

Where that had been Bill O'Reilly, the bigot bastard, talking trash about Tony Stark's choice to shut down the weapons, now there was more trash talk about Tony Stark being compared to a stingy boy who didn't want to share his new toy with the rest of the children in the sandbox. I couldn't help but flip a finger at the screen where O'Reilly's big fat head was.

God, Americans had such boners for weapons that they'd slut-shame anyone who didn't want to fork over the good stuff.

But just as I was about to hand over the control to Joshua because I was getting real tired of the sexist bastard (had to wait another couple years until his sexual harassment lawsuit came at him), I stopped short when something else was brought up.

Virginia Potts, personal attendant and secretary to Tony Stark, was to arrive to New York for a meeting about the construction of a building about to be erected behind Grand Central Station. Also, she was to prepare for the upcoming, newly revived, Stark Expo.

While the anchors moved to their discussion about Stark Industries moving from weapons towards social improvements in both networks and green energy, I was suddenly overcome with a great epiphany. Gwyneth Paltrow's face, her ginger hair, her smiling red lips, her force of presence which made the inventor stop and stare and call out to his beloved, "Pepper."

She was my chance. She was my one chance to reach him.

I had to go.

I had to pack my things, move out of the motel, and make for the last journey towards New York City.

Too long had I stayed in New Jersey, too long had I waited, and no longer was I going to stand by. I had enough money to get me by for another couple of weeks, if I was careful in how I spent it.

After everyone started to close the place up, after I cleaned the restaurant one last time, I informed Miguel of my plan to head out on the road. Surprised and concerned, everyone asked if it was because of my ex-boyfriend. It was possible, I thought, the people hunting me always found me later on, no matter how hard I hid myself. I played along with the idea, and I felt terrible for the way they stiffen up in fright and anger on my behalf. They tried to tell me to try for the police, but I was quick to shoot the idea down.

My only promise to them was that I was going to find someone to help me take down the person who was trying to hurt me, and that all they could do was wish me the best of luck.

With a sad farewell from the gang, I hitched a ride on the back of an unsuspecting truck that traveled by and headed back into mainland, and then caught another one when it was heading up north.

The night was cold, and while I wasn't necessarily bothered by it thanks to my durability, I still pulled my sweater closer. The wind weaved through my hair, creating tangles and knots that I would have to later brush, but I was more concerned about what I was going to do. I mean, how does one approach a woman like Ms. Potts? She wasn't a Tony Stark, but she wasn't someone you could easily walk up to without being suspected as a suspicious character. She would have escorts, blocking people from her, and the building where she would have her upcoming meeting would be guarded.

Stealth was not exactly my greatest forte, my instincts and spider senses being "eh", but I had to try. God, I wished I was a genius like a couple of certain someones, but I had to roll with what I had.

There was only one option, I thought with a grim resignation.

With my shoddy plan, here was to hoping Ms. Potts won't freak out once she meets a giant spider.


	10. The Pledge

Oh WOW! We are getting so much closer to the goal, are we not?!

I also like to say you may want to check in the previous chapter because I update the shit out of these things because I am one paranoid fucker who will look back, read, and just choke on a sandwich because "THERE'S A MISTAKE/TYPO/GLITCH ON MY STORY, WTF?!" and... yeah, that's an author's life for ya. This is all unbeta'd, this is me writing the story because I am impatient little fucker (you can tell by the pacing that I'm trying to go for slow but I end up coughing up these chapters to make it through time skips because I want to get to the good stuff like everyone else does). Whatever, don't mind me, ignore this, go read the story.

Still reading this? Okay, let me just say that I already watched Homecoming and I was kind of disappointed that they didn't reveal much on Peter's past regarding how he got the spider bite, how his parents and uncle Ben got down (I know they've explored that area with the last two movies, but still), but at the same time, I'm glad they left this alone. I had this headcanon while watching Pete fight the Vulture on the plane that Pete's afraid of planes because those giant flying metal fucks killed his parents.

Oh my God, just thinking how the first meeting between Peter and Anemone is going to be awful to her, I swear!

Any Jesus Christ on a taco, Thor Ragnorok, Black Panther, and fucking **_Infinity War_**! You know, I kind of wish I made this story make a detour to Wakanda, but I don't think that would have been possible for our MC. Because 1) how the fuck would she get there if it's hidden? 2) why the fuck would these people let her in if she's not even allowed in? and 3) what's inside, stays inside! So... yeah, it would have been a cool concept that I was thinking about rewriting the whole story for it, but when I really thought about it, it probably wouldn't come out as realistically, no matter how badly I wished it was for poor Anemone. Well, now it's time to wait for Thor 3 to come out and play!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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There it was.

The safe house. Days after scoping out the address written down by Rick, I finally tracked it down to this place.

But whatever I was expecting to find, this was honestly not quite what I imagined.

Covered in faded graffiti tags that overlapped other tags, the building looked so close to collapsing it was a wonder why the city officials hadn't thought to destroy it in order to replace it with something brand new, but the building remained largely untouched. It sat as a corner street building, the honking of the cabs and the noise of the city was a bit overwhelming for my heightened senses, and it reminded me of the time when watching Civil War that Peter told Stark about why he wore those goggles.

The buzzing in the background that had previously felt faint in the back of my mind grew in volume over the course of traveling further inside a metropolis

I hadn't been in any major city until now, staying completely off the grid to prevent any possibility of being caught on camera by both CCTV's and handheld camera phones, so I was pretty surprised myself when everything started getting too much for my eyesight and poor ear drums. There was too many things moving fast and everything was noisy that it drove my senses a little nuts. Sensory overload anyone?

However, unlike Peter, I had this thing with me for nearly an entire year, so I had a better handling of it. It was difficult, but if I concentrated more of my problems than my surroundings then it became nothing but an itching buzz fluttering over my ears and eyes.

Sitting in a small sandwich shop across the street from the safe house, I stared at it, assessing it carefully while looking around the crowds for people possibly staking out to catch whoever was planning on going inside.

That was the problem with this picture: I couldn't bring myself to go inside the safe house out of (justified) paranoia.

Forget for a moment I even had heightened senses that could perceive threats to give me a quick heads up and enough time to react to them, let's just pretend I was actually a normal numpty-headed girl who went inside the seemingly normal apartment building, or wherever the hell the place was, and—What? Not expect someone to report me? Not expect a team of lethally armed agents to be waiting for me with their heavy duty tranquilizers guns?

Yeah, no way.

... but at the same time, _yes way_.

And why was I even taking such a considerably huge risk?

Because Pepper fucking Potts.

What I was doing was like trying to get close to the President of the United States (and I had doubts he had as much precaution as one certain billionaire), and being the dumb girl that I was, I didn't actually plan that far ahead of me once reaching New York. How was I suppose to reach her? Let alone get close? Passing an important message wasn't easy as I thought it would be, not that I ever dismissed it as child's play. I was better off on the run to nowhere, keeping the dogs chasing nothing but the dust I left behind.

But.

Looking at the shabby building, this was the very place that could potentially help me in my plans to alert one man of a danger lurking all around us and waiting to attack when we least expected it to. This was my only chance, and it was situations like these that I knew I should never let opportunities that knocked on my door go unanswered.

Getting up from the chair, pulling my hoodie closer, pushing my shades further up the bridge of my nose, I walked towards the safe house.

Who would have thought that those thirty something steps would be one of the most heart pounding moments of my life? The USB felt cold in my suddenly clammy hand, hidden away under the cover of my sweater's pockets, but I had to remember to be careful else I ended up breaking the damn thing by accident. Still looking around, I climbed the steps of the graffiti-covered establishment, trying not to freak out when several people looked at me funny but thankfully minded their own bloody business.

Above the door handle, there was a tiny keyboard that looked dusty, dirty, and full of painted grime by whatever knob who tried to get in. It looked deceptively old, unused, and broken. Hoping that my presence won't be alerted once I used the password and be accessed entry to the safe house, I tapped the keypads carefully.

 ** _click!_**

I stood there for a moment, shakily inhaling and scrunching my eyes closed before opening them and reached for the door handle. gloved fingers tentatively brushing against the bronze knob, I slowly grabbed the whole thing into a fist and gently twisted it under the latch bolt slipped from the strike plate. There was the ominous creaking of the rusty hinges, and I winced as the sound echoed in the very empty, dirty, cobweb filled room.

There was dozens of broken furniture, dust particles that made me cough a little when I entered, and the whole place was completely dark up ahead if I ventured further inside.

The entire place spelled something right out of a cult classic horror film of abandoned buildings haunted by restless ghosts. And I was playing along with it as the typical idiot girl who walked inside; honestly, if the me from a year ago saw what I was doing, other me would have lost her marbles and pulled out a tv trope dictionary to read out loud why my decision was a really fucking bad idea. But the me of _now_ decided to risk the possibly of getting mind raped or ripped apart by unseen forces because I seriously needed to get my brain checked for imagining Berserk-level horrors for just taking a few steps inside a creepy building.

Giving another exhale to calm my frayed nerves while keeping a sharp eye for any hidden danger, I started to scope around the place for any signs of an entrance that could lead me to a secret lab, office, or whatever that could help me.

It was honestly frustrating trying to locate a secret passageway that I was beginning to wonder if by some chance people had already come and swept the place clean, but the dust and cobwebs said otherwise. I climbed through all the upper floors, knocking down doors and nudging items around to see if a secret lair would reveal itself. Going down to each floor did nothing but frustrate the bloody hell out of me. Trying to find a hidden latch was much difficult than was usually depicted in the movies and television shows that I felt pretty dumb for thinking this would be easy as pie for me.

If there was a lesson to be learned from this, it was that I shouldn't expect much.

Just where the fuck was that hidden computer lab that Rick implied he had?! Was I even in the right building? ... Or maybe I was actually alerting the organization of my presence.

"Goddammit!" I cursed as I threw a chair I had been holding, beginning to head for the doorway.

A resounding thud when the chair crashed and splintered to pieces against the wall made me halt in taking another step. I remembered to check the walls, beating them with my fists that they practically caved in from the force. This building was old, things were almost falling apart with age, yet it still stood because it served a purpose. Turning to face the wall which did not yield to the flying chair, I stared at it through the darkness.

Making my way past the scattered furniture, careful not to even accidentally squash one of the many rats I had seen scarpering around the floors (ugh!), I made it to the other end of the room where there was the wall. The entire thing stood almost in the middle of the room, so open that I could circle around it, like a sort of wide island.

This was the way to the secret lair

Now I just have to find the doorway inside.

I tapped it, knocked on it, kicked it lightly, and nothing reacted to my touches.

"Really?" I snapped, beyond tired of this guessing game. "Fuck you Parker, I had enough of your bull—"

 **"Access Denied."**

Shrieking like a banshee, my reflexes made me jump high until I reached the ceiling, clutching on the top like a puddy that refused to let go. Frantically, I looked around for the source of the voice, trying to find the death squad of men and women in black gear bursting in the building to take me out with their heavy duty tranquilizers that could put an elephant into a coma.

My senses should have picked up life signs besides the rat, I should have been able to detect a heartbeat or a person's body heat signature because that's what my senses do. It was more amplified now that I was inside a city, but it only dimmed when I was inside a closed building that blocked out the rest of the world outside, enabling me to concentrate a little better that there was no needed effort.

But there was no one. No heat, no heart, no signature, _nothing_.

I hung off the ceiling for awhile, not trusting the ground like a child pretending the floor was lava. Seconds went by, then minutes, and then after a long period of steady silence when nothing happened, I calmed my frantic heart.

"... hello?"

 **"Access Denied,"** the voice abruptly announced that I tensed once more.

Moving past the freak out session, I carefully considered the words a voice. It sounded mundane, apathetic, and it spoke in the same echo as it had the first time around. Finally letting go of my hold on the ceiling, I fell back down to the floor and kept myself in a crouched position, giving the entire room a careful look to make doubly sure that there was no one with me.

"Is anyone there?"

 **"Access Denied."**

"Yeah, I figured." I muttered.

It was a recording machine voice, the kind people find when making connect calls to their banks, placing an order for pizza, or selling products. I stood to my full height after awhile, spooked a little when something hideously tiny scurried past me. I eyed the wall, circling around it once more to check for another outline of a door.

"Open Sesame?"

 **"Access Denied."**

"Please open up? With cherry on top?"

 **"Access Denied."**

"Bullocks!"

 **"Access Denied."**

That voice was starting to get on my nerves now, but I stopped at one face of the wall.

"... Peter Parker?"

A sharp gust of air blew from somewhere, making me jump a little. It sounded like a door from somewhere had come out of hiding, and when I turned the corner of the wall, there was an opening which had dim neon blue lights creating a pathway.

"Here goes," I muttered to myself and took the first step down towards the lair.

The flight of stairs was long and a bit claustrophobic with how tight in space it was, further inducing a sense of paranoia that anything like a collapse of the building on top of me could bury me alive. But I had come this far, I had searched too long, and I've been through so much that I would be a moron to turn back. Hurrying down the steps, I finally reached the basement level of the building.

At first there was darkness, but as soon as I stepped forward, everything flickered to life.

Rick's lab.

A computer station, a sterile lab stationed beyond a glass containment, metal lockers and drawers secured to keep everything locked tight, and a workbench which had been left unused for quite some time since the Parker's last visit. It was like a small bunker, I observed as I searched the room. I stopped when I noticed a tube of glass containers that held suits that looked like swimwear of some sort, a large computer tablet sitting docilely nearby.

 _'I suppose I should get started,'_ I huffed.

* * *

I grabbed my things from the motel I had left my belongings, quickly returning to the abandoned building where I set up my new abode. Buying a sleeping bag and some lamps, I was surprised to find a bathroom in the secret bunker where I could do my business without having to go back and forth from the streets to the building. But I supposed that it would be pointless for Parker to exit and reenter a building which would lead to a lot of talk and whispers from the streets, so of course he would install something like a bathroom.

The computer station had several cameras set up, secretly hidden within the building and outside of it as well, and this would make it easier for me to watch out for any signs of the organization trying to get in after me. Another great thing about the bunker was when I discovered an exit door to the tunnel system, and going by the sound of metal on metal, horns blown, and the rush of wind, it was a subway tunnel. And while that was wonderful for just in case, I dared not step further inside because I could also hear the rats squeaking and skittering around in the darkness.

That's when I started to get down to serious business when I had enough of exploring the bunker.

I plugged the USB into the computer mainframe and watched as a file appeared on the screen.

Clicking on the icon, there appeared a bar which asked for a password. I typed Rick's son's name once more, and just like the first two times, I was granted access to the files. Rick really must love his son, as most parents did, but this was a bit excessive. It was like that Teen Wolf show, the lead character using his girlfriend's name in his passwords that even the villain rolled their eyes in exasperation from the use of it.

I watched as everything was revealed from not just on the screen in front of me, but on the giant wall where it spread out in holographic displays provided to me by the light projector stationed at the center of the ceiling. I took in the list of names that popped up on a sidebar of the screen, millions of faces blinking and disappearing without slowing down, other documents filling up the rest of the computer.

This was what had been hiding inside the USB. It made me wonder just how in the world Rick and Mary Parker got their hands on this much information. Did they disguise themselves as agents of the organization to sneak in? Did they slowly accumulate this information for many years? Or did they get it off the hands of someone who had been on the inside? Whatever the case, it was all right here. Every dirty secret of the organization sitting on the screen and waiting for me to upload it into the public network, unleashing hell on earth.

For a moment, I wanted to throw caution in the wind and do it; forget the rest of the innocent people, I wanted to save myself.

... But that would make me out to be no better than a cowardly person who the old me would have looked down on for their selfishness. Real life was much scarier, I was alone in all this, and it's been so long since I seen my family, and I missed everyone back home terribly... However, I knew for a fact, from experience and from seeing it on the television screen, that my life was just a smidgen compared to what others went through. I was the lucky one who got away with her life, her mind, and her soul, many others probably didn't have that much privilege as I did.

So I had to see through this, no matter how scared, I had to make sure the right thing would prevail for everyone else.

When I reached to tug the USB out of mainframe, I stopped myself short.

The thought came quick and vague, but it was a thought that made me freeze like a petrified statue.

Sitting up straight on my chair, my fingers traced over the keyboard and started to type out a letter—a name. Pressing the enter button on the keyboard, I watched the screen become a scrambling mess to identify the key words until it displayed the very thing that made me stop and stare.

With absolute horror growing like a sick tumor inside my soul, I discovered a terribly familiar secret hiding itself in the archives of the files... just as I feared.

 _'Oh, God...'_

They actually had _this_ recorded into their files...!

I threw myself out of the chair, stalking around the bunker in a fit of despair and seething rage, my eyes blurring with hot tears falling down my face. It took awhile for me to calm myself, to ease myself back to my planning because time was running short and I really needed to get things moving along if I was to succeed. I briskly removed the USB from the mainframe and started to check for something useful on the computer that could help me. That's when I came across a peculiar icon. Curious of its purpose, I clicked on it which led me into something that looked similarly to... photoshop?

What the actual hell?

Looking at the contents written on the side, I clicked a button and then the picture of a suit appeared on the blank canvas screen. A suit which looked incredibly similar to the ones stuck inside the glass case tube stationed behind the computer lab. The sound of hissing had me whirling around, body crouched and tense for an incoming attack, only to see lights from within the glass chamber across the lab come to life.

Pulled up from a container separate from all else, a sleek and form-fitting suit was displayed inside with its sleeves and legs stretched out by tools that kept the attire stretched out.

"What the hell?" I muttered to myself. I turned to the computer, giving a hesitant glance back the glass container, I clicked around to read the tutorials for the program and what purpose it served.

After a minute of looking around, I gave up and just turned from the station.

What was this thing? Was it some sort of spy suit like people usually wore in the movies when their about to go out on a mission and—

 _'Wait,'_ I blinked in surprise as my mouth fell open in an unattractive gawking expression. _'Wait a damn minute!'_

It was like a slap to the face.

The black sleek suit, the computer where there was options of customization, and these abilities hidden away beneath the form of scrawny young woman.

It was like some sort of twisted cosmic game playing itself right out there, and I was a toy that didn't know where to run back to or how to move forward. And this shouldn't have surprised me because of fucking course something bigger was playing with my life like this?! My life was not like a movie but here I was!

Months of being hurt and torn up and then hunted and scared, months of trying to fit into cracks I couldn't complete, months of learning tricks and trades, months of surviving under the grid while trying to play like I was part of the crowd, months of hiding behind someone who I was not, all of it accumulated to this very moment where I was staring at something I had been trying to avoid all along.

I was no super spy from an secret intelligence organization, nor was I a trained soldier, a genius with tech and money, a sharp shooter... or even an angry person with incredible strength (sort of).

I was merely a little girl.

But I was going to be the girl who changed the tides of huge war aimed against not only herself but the rest of the world. The man, if he was every bit as powerful with his mind and resources and connections, he was going to mow down his enemies one branch at a time. He was going to make them collapse like a weak cavern caving in from the pressure and weight. He was going to retaliate against them for every wrong they had done to him, to the people, and to the entire world.

And he was going to go after every single person who so much as dipped their finger in the cesspool of evil.

This was no longer a game of pretend... but if the signs were pointing at this like neon words, maybe I should listen.

I suppose everyone was finally going to see a glimpse of a spider swinging across the streets of New York.

With that, I turned to the computer desk and pulled out a pen from the side of the tablet computer to start working on the suit. Adding a mask and some gloves, I pulled out the coloring wheel and picked out four specific colors: black, white, fire red, and bright sky blue. I spent more than an hour working on the suit, moving the picture around to my liking as it was treated as a 3D model on the screen, helping me reach to the corners to get a better angle in drawing the schemes. There was a symmetry button where if I drew on one side, it would reflect perfectly on the opposite side, so I didn't have to worry much on my drawing lines being absolutely perfect. Checking again, shaping it to my liking, making sure the color was alright, I was finally completed with my work.

Clicking on a button to signal that I was done, the noise coming from the machine behind me began to move.

 **"Process will be complete in one hour. Please stand by."**

"That's good." I said as I stood up and stretched my joints. "I'll be heading out to get some other supplies I'll need to complete this."

The mask and suit were all good, but it was still incomplete with a few things that needed to add a finishing touch to it.

Giving a quick online search for specific stores I would find the materials I wanted, I wrote down the addresses for them then headed up the stairs, through the dusty floor, and right back out to the streets of New York. It was pretty late out, the street lamps on, but the streets were still bustling with people. It was much colder, few braving the frozen streets in their bundled up coats and gloves, and I avoided bumping into anyone as I looked for the streets I wrote down which had the stuff I wanted to buy. Because this was known to be the city that never slept, I hoped that the shops weren't closed.

It was something surreal, walking around one of the most famous cities of America. It was the home base of all superheroes, the center of epic battles in Hollywood, a historical landmark where people gathered here from other countries, and it was just really popular that it was kind of annoying sometimes. But as much as New York was quite the beautiful sight, in both day and night—

"Watch where ya walkin'!"

"Any day now, slow poke!"

It was just like New Jersey: full of angry people.

If I wasn't fast enough, I was yelled at by the people trying to get a move; if I waited at a stop sign for the signal lights to change, someone would shove their way past me to stand in front; if I took too long to cross roads, people would honk at me with their taxi cabs and cars; if I even tried to ask for directions, I was either ignored or just rudely told to shove off.

Finally arrived to one of the closest shops, and thankfully finding it open, I entered and immediately got to searching what materials I needed. Finding two spray cans of the same shade as the fire red color and bright sky blue, a plastic mask, a scissor, a box cutter, and a small sewing kit, I gathered all the things that I needed. The store clerk said nothing, probably didn't acknowledge the items I set on the counter like one would at a sex shop. Store clerks had a talent of blocking out everything and everyone, moving like machines behind the desk until actually snapping to attention when something amiss was at foot.

Paying for it quickly, I moved out of the shop and headed for the next destination.

Two blocks away was a clothes and shoes store.

It was an hour away from closing up, so I had to work fast in finding what I needed real quick as the staff were giving me dirty looks when I entered. There was a section of silky sweaters for men, I grabbed a white one. I tried not to feel bothered by the scoff from behind me, and I could only sense the skepticism coming from the worker as they probably wanted to say a nasty thing or two to me for whatever reason. I was on a mission that needed to be absolutely successful, I didn't have time to be dallying or trading verbal blows with impatient rude employees who apparently have no sense of restraint.

Going to the shoe section of the store, that's when I started to get a little frantic because I couldn't find any Croc shoes. I was so engrossed in looking around that I pretty much ignored everything until something came at me from behind. Like a pond being disturbed by the ripple of waves, I quickly focused on the sound of shoes briskly clacking towards my unguarded back.

Sensing something about to grab me from behind, I was quick to snap my arm up and snatch their outstretched wrist in mid-air, stopping them from coming into contact with me.

"Don't touch me," I warned the woman, eyes focused intently on her.

"Jesus Christ, lady! Take a fucking chill pill!" a lady with dark curly hair, wearing heavier makeup than my own, gave a small hiss in pain from the grip I had on her wrist while glaring hatefully at me.

"Leave me alone," I released her and stepped away from her close space. "I'll be out of your store in no time, so why don't you and your little posse go back to pretending you're in high school and trash-talking every paying customer that's going through your products."

The other staff members that jerked and startled at my surprise move when I grabbed their co-worker grumbled and glared at my form, feeling embarrassed and resentful for being called out on their rude behavior. The woman gaped at me like I had the audacity to insult her and her co-workers like they hadn't moments ago been whispering how I was probably some hooker trying to buy her boyfriend some presents so I wouldn't face the belt or get slapped around. She was quick to compose herself and return to her angry New Yorker mode.

"What are you looking for?" the curly-haired woman demanded, rubbing her wrist while still glaring at me like she could burn me with her eyes.

"Shoes." I sarcastically answered, turning away from her once I was sure she would keep her distance.

"No fucking shit."

I went back to looking around.

"Is it a specific brand?" she persisted, most likely eager to get me out of the store.

"Crocs." I answered.

A snort. " _Crocs_? In November?"

"What are you so worried about? You won't be wearing them." I said.

"Whatever. We have them over here." she went to the furthest end of the shoe stacks and tapped at the cardboard shoe boxes encasing the brand I wanted to buy. "What size are you?"

"Six."

She was quick to find it and then pull out the box before shoving it into my awaiting arms before heading towards the front desk register. I pulled out the wad of cash as I placed the silky sweater and shoe box. Having a duel of the most dirtiest glare either of us had, I watched as the woman hurriedly put my purchased items in a flimsy plastic bag before once again shoving them in my arms.

"Have a nice day, Ms. Bitch."

"Right back you, Queen Cum-on-my-back." I retorted easily with a sweet smile of my own.

I walked away with the plastic bags swinging by my side, eager to get off the streets and back to the secret lair where my work was almost nearing completion. With so many people getting after me and being total tools about it, I decided to get back them little by little. I slowed down on my walks when they yelled at me to go faster, I nearly broke their fingers when they tried to grab me to shove me aside, I flicked off the honkers when I crossed the streets, and I _accidentally_ tripped people when they tried to cut in front of my path.

New York really did bring out the arsehole in people, like an infectious disease.

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It was done.

I finished it.

Hours of cutting, sewing, spray painting, attaching, detaching, all the way until the first rays of the morning (indicated through the security cameras of outside), I was finally finished with my design.

There was no building excitement like the first time, there was no giddy happiness, there was no thoughts and imaginations running rampant in my mind, and there was no fantasy found in wearing this. There was just the sense of new purpose, a heavy weight tied to my shoulders, a wave of memories of the events that led me to this place, and the absolute conviction that this needed to be done.

When I walked up to a nearby mirror, when I saw what was staring back at me from beneath the white hood and wide white lenses of the eyes, it was not some child living every fangirl's dream. This was not a game I was playing; this was life and death hanging on the balance of this mission I set myself to.

Standing there in the reflection was a desperate woman who had been backed to the corner and was trying to prepare for the fight that would come crashing back once she made the first wave.

( _youreadytorunlittlerabbit?_ )

Looking towards the calendar on the computer, I was two more days away from the meeting date.

Now, I had to wait.


	11. Meeting You

A lot has happened in the past week, and it's pretty insane and I still sometimes can't believe this is real life.

I'm not gonna go into detail with what happened, it's just terrible and no one here wants to be bothered with this stuff. Just remember to enjoy the times you have with your loved ones, from your spouses, significant others, siblings, friends, parents, other people who matter most to you, take care to always part with them on good terms because you never know when it will be the last time you'll see them. I was lucky to at least parted with them on good terms, not knowing that it would be the last time I shared a laugh or two with them before they were taken.

This chapter is the one you guys have been anticipating since you started reading this story, and it would be cruel of me not to follow through as intended by the course of action. So far, Anemone has been avoiding all MCU characters because of reasons, one of them being that she is still referring to them as sort of characters. All she can think about as that they have the faces of the actors in her world, RDJ, Chris Evans, Samuel L. Jackson, and so she's at this half and half point where she believes its real yet at the same time not. Her universe and this universe she's stuck in is messing with her, and it would probably drive her nuts.

Like, she's been through bad shit so she knows that's real, and suddenly when she's escaped from the horrors of her prison and into the real world, suddenly there's this guy who has RDJ's face claiming to be really Tony Stark, not the actor pretending and trying to get publicity for his upcoming movie. I've tried to read Self-Insert fics where the author's MC has something similar to this sort of process thinking, but I get too distracted with how their story turns me off with how their OC is blurting out spoiler shit they should have no idea about (one of my pet peeves as I explained in one of my previous chapters). So, this story of mine I'm trying to do some justice because like a reviewer said: just because Anemone suddenly has super powers doesn't mean she's automatically a BAMF. Nope, she's still this young woman who's afraid, shifty-eyed, paranoid as hell, wants to call for help but knows she can't, and most likely cries in her pillow for her mummy and daddy to save her like most children would.

She's really young. She's trying so hard to keep her head above the water, trying not to slip up with those people hunting her, and trying really hard to make sure nothing falls into a chaotic mess like it did in the aftermath of the Fall of SHIELD. If her situation had been any worse than it already was, I'm pretty sure she would have pressed the doomsday button and let every agent fight for themselves, but since she's sort of in control and has a goal set, she keeps her hands away from the button. The right thing to do, is give the button to someone who can take their time dismantling the organization.

So here's another chapter for you, enjoy!

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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I never been so high. And no, I'm not referring to _that_ kind of high.

The next day was spent going over a carefully placed plan, reading the maps and blueprints of the area and building which the meeting would take place, watching some news for any updates, and looking through the bunker for anything that could be useful.

I hit the jackpot when I came across some EMP gadgets similar to that of the one Rick used on the plane to temporarily blind the agents. There was some tiny ones, and then there was some big ones that I guess could knock out an entire block in a temporary blackout. The city was littered with CCTV's, and Stark was armed with not only his intelligence, but his all powerful AI butler keeping an eye on things, tracking every movement of Stark's employees and friends alike. I could only imagine how high security has gone up after Stane's reveal as a benefactor to terrorists getting their hands on Stark's high tech weapons, all of it operated under the billionaire's nose.

I was taking all the EMP's with me to ensure that JARVIS would never see me coming. This was between me and Ms. Potts, I didn't really want to set off an alarm to Stark that his attendant was in danger.

Now, I just had to set up a route, destroy a few cameras, and find a place where I could change in my new suit, go out, deliver the package, return to the place I changed and return to my average bystander clothes, and walk away like I was coming out of a parking lot of a shopping mall.

Careful to keep the maps and blueprints hidden as I explored the area, it took several hours until I found the perfect route where there was less security cameras stationed. It was a parking lot, looking shady like most with creeps hanging out. Parking lots were a danger zone to women, practically hunting ground for muggers and predators alike. Two men attempted to mug me while I was looking around for any signs of CCTV's, but all they got from me was nothing but a broken nose and dislocated wrist. They ran with tails between their legs and I just went back to looking around for the cameras before catching sight of two of them, but finding them broken because of how mangled they appeared.

Marking this spot as my entrance and exit route, I did another quick scan until I was satisfied and did the same with two other floors in that were near the shopping elevators. If there was a way I would get caught on camera, I would simple appear as a shopaholic woman who forgot her car keys and had to walk her way out. I went and grabbed two bags, wanting for the act to be convincing for someone to be looking back through the cameras.

 _'God, this was a lot of work!'_

But it was well worth the effort. I bought some nice-looking clothes and shoes, and removing them out of the shopping bag, I replaced it with the suit. The mask stared back at me, it's bug-like lenses penetrating the core depths of my heart and soul. It was as if it was asking if I was prepared to go through with this, if I was prepared to finally start moving in through the dark in order to make my way out.

"Whatever happens," I said out loud, meeting the mask's stare. "We did our best."

And I did do my best; I did my best to rebel, escape, survive, learn, adapt, and deceive. I made it this far, and without several of the people who helped push me along the way, I don't think I would have lasted so long. But chances and opportunities came and I took them, and now I was right here prepared to do something and slam it in the faces of the ones who hunted me like an animal.

I walked out of the parking lot after stashing away the items, almost accosted once more by different muggers (or predators, I really couldn't tell), but they were once again sent limping back home with bruised ribs and broken jaws.

Tomorrow was the big day.

There wasn't trouble getting some sleep, not like how I was when there was an exciting event happening like Christmas or a family holiday spent elsewhere. Exhaustion and stress from running, working, searching, and hundreds of other things finally put me to sleep. An alarm clock set up on the computer, ticking away on the virtual clock as the hour of the mission was just hours away from starting.

So, the moment my head touched the pillow, I was out like a light.

* * *

 _ **beep! beep! beep!**_

I was sitting in a bunker, I was lying somewhere in the dark, and that was a computer alarm clock; I was not back at my apartment, I was not in my bed, and this was not my brother trying to annoy the hell out of me with his knick-knacks because he was feeling particularly bored that he decided to torture me in order to relieve himself in some way. For a long while I sat there, staring at nothing but the walls and computers and sterile labs, shuddering for a moment of the other labs I had been inside of some time ago.

Sometimes I thought, while waking up from the comforts of sleep, that I was back home in my bedroom in California, or even better, back in England. But there were times when I jerked awake when I thought I was back in my prison, so cold, and this bunker gave me the chills of phantom memories that left goosebumps on my skin.

Home truly was where the people you loved were.

Home was where you were the warmest, safest, and most loved. All three things which were missing since I came here, and would most likely never get back to if things were going the way they were. All I could do was offer up a way to make the world a little more safer by giving away something passed on to me by Rick, hoping for the best that Stark would give it his all in dismantling the organization, following true to his sense of justice that he would ensure that the lives of the people were out of the firing range before the shooting squad came to kill the multi-headed serpent.

Banishing those depressing thoughts for the nth time, I rolled the blanket off my pajama clad form and headed straight for the bathroom to brush my teeth, take a quick shower, and begin the operation that had been on my mind since that announcement on television.

Turning on one of the computers whilst I dried and slowly dressed myself, I listened to the updates. The cries of the crowd from the telly made me stop in the middle of clicking on my bra straps, and watched the the telly's camera went in a panorama view of the thousands of New Yorkers giving cheerful waves to the news crew.

"The 2010 Thanksgiving Parade march will be at full blast! You can even hear the band playing all the way from—"

 _'A parade?'_

I went over the maps again, checking on the computer for the route of the Thanksgiving Parade's street routes. I winced when I saw the march would be passing close to the building where Ms. Potts was going to have her meeting, but then I thought about it carefully. This march was going to last for about two hours, so maybe I could use this as a distraction while visiting the Ms. Potts before making a quick getaway in the confusion of it all.

That sounded it could work.

I hurried in dressing up while gathering the tools.

Black winter dress that reached close to my upper knees, dark pantyhose, black pumps, a puffy scarf, and a suede coat with wooden buttons and belt to tie it around my waist. I looked like a fashionista, and I was glad I went through a series of magazines to research what fashionable women in New York wore. Hopefully no one would catch me stumbling out of the dirty, crumbling building in a state like this.

Operation: Whistleblower was a go!

Ducking out of the run down building while making sure the coast was clear, I scurried out on the streets with a fake purse, quickly getting through the streets and ignoring the mad rush of it all, taking care of the arseholes who tried to give me problems by tripping their feet to get them to leave me the hell alone. I finally reached the parking lot, used the stairs to quickly find the floor where I stashed my suit.

It was still there, to my relief.

With quick work and hiding between two vehicles, I changed out of my nice stylish dress and shoes and slipped on the skin tight suit, and I was glad that this thing was very resistant to the cold. Pushing the clothes inside the shopping bag, I placed it back on the perch of the hiding spot, grabbed a few of the EMP tools in a small backpack I got, and placed it in a place where I had easy access to them. Inside the backpack was also the most important item of them all, waiting to be handed to the personal attendant of the billionaire hero.

I pushed one EMP button and the world got plunged into darkness.

Quickly heading out, I jumped through an opening that led outside before I released a string of webs to cling on the side of the building, vaulting me towards the upper part of the building. When my hands clung to the side, I looked down and nearly dropped myself in surprise.

I was really high up on the building. The people looked like tiny ants down below. Pulling up my wrist, I was pleased that the opening slit had worked well into the suit. I was afraid it wouldn't work while trying to fit some plastic tubing to make an opening for my web otherwise I would have trouble getting across the city because my webs were blocked by the suit, but with some quick work, I was able to fix that problem real quick. It took a few trials and errors, but I eventually got the thing to work to my favor; it just left one corner of the building covered in cobwebs. Yay for the spiders holed up in the building.

"Okay, just one step at a time!" I prepped myself, reaching for a bigger EMP in the backpack strapped on me. "You can do this, darling. You can do this!"

Looking towards where the parade was coming from, able to hear it in the distance beyond the cars and crowds that made noise, I could almost see the giant inflatable balloons, some shaped as Dr. Suess' characters.

The big EMP went off, and to the shock of not only myself but the crowds below, cars went dead, the phones were down if the way people held their phones in outrage wasn't enough of a clue, a few blocks of electricity went out.

The time to go was _now_!

And I went. It was kind of like that free fall feeling I experienced from the plane without the parachute to save me, and for a moment I almost forgot that I was able to shoot webs out of my wrists. Until finally my body jolted me back to brain by my arm instinctively shooting a rope of web to catch some different building, steering my body away from splattering messily on the ground floor.

 _'I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,'_ the mantra continued in my head.

And I went swinging across the streets from overhead, keeping clear of the wide streets where people could probably spot me (and I didn't doubt they did because how could someone truly miss seeing a person swinging off the buildings like a modern-day Tarzan?), and my only saving grace was that phones and cameras were too dead to actually catch a glimpse of the figure in black and white.

I took to the rooftop buildings when I got close enough to the Thanksgiving Parade, and once an inflatable was passing by the building I was crouching on the edge of a rail on, I stared down at the crowd through the lenses of the mask.

Ms. Potts meeting place was right on the next block. Given how important of a figure she was to Stark Industries and with the close ties she had with her superior and friend Tony Stark, it was going to be watched carefully. Pulling out another big EMP, I just hope this thing lasted long enough for me to give the package to her before JARVIS forced a reboot in the system to track down what he perceived was a threat to Stark's allies.

I leapt on the back of the Cat in the Hat, careful to stay balanced on the wobbling giant balloon's back. Slowly, it settled and I was able to lean back and enjoy the ride for awhile, waiting for the time when the march would come close to the building. It looked just pretty sleek and full of reflective glass windows on one side while the very other corner had concrete with tiny windows. The concrete side was going to serve my entrance way since I didn't cause a scene by breaking my way into giant window panes that will probably scare the crap out of people.

Pulling out thick binoculars I also found in the lockers of nifty things, I tried to search for which floor Ms. Potts was hold up in.

Honestly, it was like playing Where's Waldo. I finally caught the ginger hair of the woman, a group of men and weapon dressed in their classy business attires. The floor was near the highest part of the building, and their meeting was taking place at the other corner where they all filed inside the room. Perfect. Despite the reflective windows, these binoculars could see practically almost everything, I was going to keep this with me, yep! I settled down on my spot, feeling the balloon jostle slightly that I was left bouncing a little.

 _'Hey, where does this whole thing remind me of?'_ I thought as my body bounced on top the helium-filled surface.

Oh, of course, I thought while rolling my eyes behind the mask. That movie. The first Spider-Man movie with Tobey Maguire, the Green Goblin making his first appearance to the general public by killing Norman's former business partners and wreaking havoc upon the people below. Good God, I hoped nothing of the sort would happen here, and especially during something as important as this. I would literally lose my shit if things took a wrong turn.

Alright, I was coming up pretty close, I so had to act fast. Once the inflatable was near, I pushed the giant EMP button and watched as half the crowds and couple of television crews move in a flurry on confusion. I bounced from the back of the balloon and onto its head before jumping to attach myself to the side of the building to the nearest window. Checking quickly for any signs, I hit the jackpot by landing near a window that appeared to be a bathroom for men. I gave a great push against the window frame until it gave under my strength, cracking a but of the glass until the entire frame fell forward inside. I hurried inside.

I burst out of the bathroom into the empty and dark hallway, the walls decorated with stylish artistic frames most office buildings had to give it life while the rest seemed boring (in my opinion, at least).

Needing to act quickly in climbing two more floors up (the windows were mismatches with the floors, apparently), I had to reach Ms. Potts quickly before there was a system reboot in this building along with the rest of the block who were temporarily experiencing a black out. Running down the hall, I searched then found a door leading to the stairway, and I threw myself through the door and ran up the flight of stairs until I reached the floor I needed to be.

Once I was on the floor, I jerked when I heard a yelp which meant I was spotted.

"What the hell?!" two officer workers watched me with wide eyes, one woman who looked to carrying a box of coffee and doughnuts while the other man looked to be pushing a small cart of paper. "A bit late for Halloween, ain't ya?"

"Uh," I stumbled. "The meeting with Ms. Potts, please?"

Thankfully, the one lady quietly pointed for me the right direction, the other too engrossed in gawking at me.

"Thanks!" I shouted over my shoulder as I ran.

I ran past startled workers, ducking, diving, weaving, and jumping past them as I hurried. Up ahead, where I spotted a hallway which split itself to opposite directions, thinking that I was about to lose time in trying to find Ms. Potts, my dashed dreams in a simple delivery came back with a force when a group of businessmen and women turning the corner. And amongst them, to my delight, was Ms. Potts—and Hogan.

Happy Hogan the bodyguard.

Happy Hogan who spotted me and halted in taking another step forward where I was coming from.

Happy Hogan who was then shouting in alarm and reaching for something in his jacket and—Oh, bugger me!

" _FREEZE_!"

Several men who were there also pulled out taser guns, or you know, actual firearms, and aimed them right at me. The men and women suddenly ducking and backing away in fear at the danger they thought they were in.

I could have tried to explain myself, or something, but there was just _no time_. So, with a heave, I started firing my web to catch the men off guard, and while they were stunned, I quickly moved in kicking them against the walls and sticking them there like giant flies caught on my cobweb. With Hogan, I went a little more easier with because I knew how much he meant to Stark and the rest (his boss literally went to war with a terrorist, however fake, for his driver and bodyguard being put in the hospital). Tying the web around him like a rope and attaching it to the ceiling of the hallway, I gave a final scan around the room of struggling men before I turned my attention to the frightened group.

They looked like a bunch of startled sheep, cornered and afraid, some of them even crying. But my eyes caught the bright orange hair put in a neat bun, nervous but standing tall, and really, was it a wonder why Stark wasn't over the moon for her?

"What do you want?" one of the businessmen, putting an admirably brave front, demanded as he looked down at my smaller form.

I reached for my backpack, and all of them tensed. They probably thought I was some crazy bomber in a stupid costume. I pulled the zipper open and pulled out the small cardboard box I made, holding the precious cargo. Shifting it a little towards the group, all of them saw what was written in bold and block letters to make sure it never matched with my handwriting.

 _ **FOR TONY STARK**_

I slowly approached Ms. Potts and some of the people parted away like the Red Sea, and I could hear Hogan struggling furiously at seeing me come near her. Finally, when I was close enough, I stretched my arm out and held it out for her to take it.

She stared at it, wary and speechless before her green-grey eyes flickered towards my masked face.

"What do you want with Stark?" she demanded, voice fierce and protective.

I couldn't speak. I was afraid to talk to her, hell, I was afraid of being looked at by her. My heart was racing like crazy, drums beating harshly against my prison of bones, and just looking and speaking to her brought a sick feeling in my stomach.

Once again, I urged for her to take the package, and this time, with clear trepidation, she took the package from my hands with her perfectly manicured red finger-nailed hands. Seeing her take it, I finally stepped away from her space and turned around, making my way past the group of struggling bodyguards who were escorting the people from the meeting.

"Who are you?" I heard her call from behind me.

My step faltered a little—

( _whoareyou?_ )

But I kept going until I started to run down the hallway.

Again, I passed up the startled office workers, giving a quiet salute to the coffee and doughnut lady along with her still gawking companion then took the stairway door, jumping down, and running towards the men's bathroom. I surprised a couple of men who were inspecting the open window, and they all shouted in alarm when I had gone and leapt out to the floating inflatable from the window, bouncing on it before jumping to the next building across, discharging another EMP to create another blackout.

I swung in random place, my web slinging awkward since this was the first time I've traveled like this. I needed to head into the gym or something, get back to my roots as a gymnast, doing vaults and flips in my younger years. And not only that, but probably pick up classes on self defense and some martial arts because while I was okay, I was mostly swinging my fists and depending on my web to catch things or fling me away from danger. And, I thought in exasperation, I needed to work on strategy and planning because that was pretty poor and flimsy.

But that work was all because I was by myself, and because I had Rick's computers and gadgets to help me go in and escape from places. I was really one lucky little bug.

Speaking of which...

 _'Holy shit,'_ I stood on the roof, breathless and surprised by the excitement. _'I did it.'_

I delivered the package.

And now, I thought as I looked back to the building, it was time to see if Ms. Potts will actually give that to Tony Stark. Here's to hoping she won't actually throw it away, or Hogan will smash it to pieces under his foot because he was feeling angry at not stopping something that could have potentially harmed the person he was trying to protect but was unable.

I made my way back to the building where I hid my things, discharging another EMP to blind the area from seeing me coming. I quickly replaced my suit with the clothes I came in, replacing my modified Croc shoes with pumps, and suit with black dress. Grabbing the two Macy's bags, I made my way out the building, looking like a distressed woman because her car keys were stolen and her phone just died from whatever electronic problems it was getting. The people around me were just as boggled and upset with their dead cars and phones as well, cursing up a storm that this happened a second time.

I was going to be in so much trouble should this entire thing blow up in my face if it was ever brought up in the light.

Now, onto the next project I had been planning since several days ago.

The creation of my new identity to register into the system.

This was no way to live, and I don't think I could take any more of it like most people did. I didn't want to try to talk around why I didn't have ID cards or bank accounts, I needed papers and a social security number. This would be a cover up, of course, but it would be a cover I had to live in because it would be everything I had in order to truly disappear.

The person the organization was looking for no longer existed. Even if I thought there would be a day when I was actually able to return with my old name and face, it would be like trying to put on an old shirt that no longer felt comfortable for me to fit in. It would feel empty and not mean much, memories being the only thing to keep it connected, but no physical attachment to it. But this... this was probably for the best. The organization knew who they were looking for, and I was anything but the person who came to this new world from the blue portal who tossed me through dimensions and universes.

This new life and new name I would have to keep with me would be painful, and it would take some time getting used to, but it was only thing I had to keep going.


	12. Climbed up the Spout Again

Am I right to assume that everyone enjoyed the last chapter? I'm glad you guys enjoyed it, and I'm really happy this story made it this far with so much positively, and the only criticism I garnered was someone suggesting I get someone to help me with writing because my past and present tense are atrocious. Yeah, I know, I haven't taken a creative writing class so I'm kind of left in the dark here, but there's also the want to hurry up and post the new chapter for you guys.

Anyway, I just want to say that we're nearing the end of this story. Yep, you read right; this story is coming to a close. Don't panic, there's going to be a sequel coming up, but before that happens there's going to be a spin-off story. You'll understand the details when you read this chapter, so read ahead and remember to leave a review for me because I like to hear what you have to say. Thank you and enjoy! And trust me, you will enjoy this to the very last (I think).

 **Warning:** Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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 **SIX MONTHS LATER**

"Ms. Booker! My file!"

"Coming along, Mr. Murdoch."

"Booker, where's the coffee? I got a meeting in two minutes!"

"It's right next to your computer, Mr. Yancy."

"Booker, sweetie, did I get a call from the firm?"

"There was a call from your husband's doctor, they wanted to see if your schedule won't conflict with his upcoming physical."

"Hey, Weiss, you free for Wednes—"

"Thomas, for the tenth time, I said _no_. Whoever told you that when a girl says no it somehow translates to yes, do me a favor and punch them."

"Weiss!"

Pausing from taking another sip of water, I heard the stampede before two women joined my side: Cherry and Lorraine. Cherry worked at the reception office of the higher ups from the upper floor, her red hair giving a sort of attraction that it was the sole reason she was picked by Mr. Fern to work outside of his office, not at all paying any attention to her incredible credentials. Lorraine, dark hair and hailing originally from some small town in Ohio before arriving to the big city of Chicago, worked a few cubicles away from where I was stationed.

As for me? I worked as some little nobody paper pusher who just "graduated" from community college with an Associates Degree.

Just when I thought that it would be difficult for me to create a new identity, I was proven wrong when one of the computer's from Rick's lab was designed to help me forge a fake identity by searching for deceased candidates that were known in life as hermits to society. The computer automatically marked an old man who had died nearly two years ago in Chicago: a veteran by the name of Craig Booker. A Lieutenant who fought in Vietnam. No wife and children, he left the world alone in a hospital, his fortune given away and his home sold to a couple looking to start a family.

Selecting him, the computer got to work in guiding me on how to create a seemingly authentic new file of identity for me. A Passport, driver's license, social security number, and many other things to help create a believable person. As a bonus, being that Booker served the military, I created an account with a military bank that would give me a lot of benefits and discounts; a lot like how it did with my father serving in the Royal Air Force.

With money no longer the issue (because somewhere inside the lockers was loads of cash which I immediately deposited in the local bank), my identity brand new, and tentatively putting myself out there, I left New York behind and moved to Illinois, finding an apartment in Chicago while applying for a job. Now, to everyone who cared to look me up, I was Edelweiss Chancine Booker, illegitimate granddaughter of Lieutenant Craig Booker.

A nobody in a nameless crowd with a forgettable story to keep me anonymous.

Yet despite my efforts, people somehow pushed their way into my life and tried to spice it up with interest beyond the professional scope. This lead to meeting some colorful people while working at the administrative offices of a small-time development corporation: Cherry, Lorraine, Myshkin, and Aaron.

Myshkin was originally from Ukraine, but moved to America in wanting to pursue a business opportunity. I think he wanted to make a connection between here and Ukraine, so that was why he was in a lot of meetings with the man he was currently working under, also probably getting experience pointers from the experienced manager. Myshkin was almost thirty and little sick-looking, but he was nice and kind to everyone, his windblown blond hair and green eyes making him appear cute that it made Cherry swoon for him. Too bad for her he was gay (I caught him giving a few male coworkers some appreciative looks).

Aaron was like an underdog around here. First quitting from high school but then going back again because financials troubles, working at menial jobs to get money for college classes, almost failing out of his classes because his professors were strict as hell in wanting their students to arrive on time that they locked their doors far late goers, and then working to impress some shady assholes who threatened to fire him. Racist bastards, the lot of them. Aaron was an admirable figure in the workforce, the kind you tipped your hat to because he worked his arse off since he was a child to get to where he was now, and he deserved so much promotion and salaries for the effort he put in wanting to become an architect to begin a restoration for the damaged and abandoned neighborhoods of Chicago.

I spent time with the older men and women, learning from them and adopting a few things of their traits (still paranoid, no matter what, the feeling becoming second nature to me by now). I started to learn some Russian from Myshkin because... well, why the hell not? Aaron, I helped out by bringing supplies and food for him because I wanted to ease the struggle he had to go through every day. Cherry liked to chatter and so I listened to her gossip, picking up a few tidbits from other coworkers and our bosses that governed over us like kings to peasants. Lorraine took me on shopping trips, and she helped in teaching me the way of charm and beauty as we visited salons, spas, and clothing stores while chatting it up with a few men, something that had been terribly lacking in Ohio.

"Oh my gosh, Weiss, did you watch the news?" Lorraine asked as she grabbed me by the arm and started to pull me along with her, Cherry trailing after us with an excited skip in her step. "I know how much you like to watch that stuff! Like shit, watch this!"

"What?" I perked up, alarmed. "What happened?!"

"Look, look, look!" Cherry pointed at the telly where it was perched above in the break room, several workers also gathered and looking on.

"—Senator Stern placed under arrest in collusion with Obadiah Stane's contracts, and refuses to comment about contacts with Justin Hammer of Hammer Industries on recreating the Iron Man suits—"

The first few weeks had been the most daunting weeks I had ever experienced besides being on the run. After leaving New York, I kept an eye and ear to the radio stations and television news channels to get constant updates, and each day that passed without a single hint of any change was when dread began to sink home. Questions whether Ms. Potts had deemed the object too much of a risk and had it destroyed haunted my mind, and even worse were imaginations if she had handed it to authorities that it would reach back to the organization. What if all which Rick had sacrificed himself, and his wife, was in vain?

Those were some dark days that loomed over me. It was so bad I was literally crawling on my hands and knees, crying my eyes out that some neighbors called in concern complained to the landlord or boldly knocked on my door to see what all the hullabaloo was about. It was pathetic, but I was experiencing a hopeless situation that I accepted pitiful hugs from an old woman who cooed gently in my ear, holding me something fierce that all it did was make me cry because it reminded me that my mother wasn't ever going to give me comfort.

The time that followed was like waiting for a game over. Waiting for those bastards to finally catch up and kick the door, ready to run for my life again, ready for everything to fall apart before my eyes once again.

But something, after so long in the silence, _finally_ happened.

It wasn't like a grand explosion of things, it started off small and subtle that nobody, including myself, batted an eyelash at a small business chain getting shut down. That sort of thing happened all the time, from either the poor treatment of the staff and customers to the questionable products. No big deal.

And then it wasn't just small business chains getting closed, there was also small corporations, factories, and plants getting pushed up. There was scandals such as shady business transactions, embezzlement coming out of the pockets of funds, blackmails and death threats for silence and obedience, and other abhorrent things when it came to the corporate business world.

And from there it never stopped.

Lo and behold, watching with eyes that grew wider with each case being brought up on television, everything was unfolding.

Hammer Industries, VistaCorps, Cross Technologies were some of the big names thrown in, and it would surprise me if they also included the FBI and CIA, and well, the entire American Government and Senate, but that would probably be overdoing it a tad bit. But I could see it, the way people were shifting in awareness, becoming hyper vigilant for double agents, corrupt officials, dirty reporters, and whatever scum that dared hide themselves behind badges and uniforms.

This was shaking the entire country to its very core as everyone was forced to open their eyes and see what was happening in their schools, police departments, court houses, government cabinets/parliaments, banks, and so forth. There was no way these series of revelations was going to leave people keeping their eyes closed and heads turned, because this was their tax dollars, their identities, their property, their trust being sprung up with abuse by the people they were trusting to keep them safe and secure.

The conspiracy theorists were having a field day with the entire thing by spreading the paranoia that a secret organization was in the midst of all this (and they weren't wrong about that).

The best part? This didn't stay in only America.

Like someone once said: when a person had herpes, they weren't meant to keep it to themselves.

( _fightpoisonwithpoison_ _)_

The wave went across oceans and into foreign countries. The connections that I knew went deep into the offices and departments, and it wouldn't be long before this became an international crack down.

Stark was leaving no stone unturn in this global witch hunt.

With the possibility of him giving other countries a heads up of what was going on under their very noses, he left them to their own devices as they went ahead with their investigations in uprooting the pit of slithering snakes hiding inside of their lawns. The grass was tall but they had their lawn mowers ready to be deployed.

There was still one organization that had yet to be implied, but I suppose Stark was still working on that bed of vipers. It wouldn't do him any good if he kicked the nest because it could get downright messy, so he was most likely trying to weed out who was on the lighter shade of the gray scale before burning away the icky black that threatened to stain everything.

"Damn," I heard Aaron speak from the front of the whole room. "This whole thing is going to hell."

"Finally." someone snorted. "Those asshats are finally getting what's coming to them."

"This is insane." a woman shook her head. "It's happening _everywhere_."

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing, Chrissie," her girl friend scoffed. "That bloated _Cheeto_ Donald Trump is facing trial! This is a cause of celebration!"

Had people not been preoccupied with the screen, they all would have been scared of the giant smile on my face.

So much was happening, so much of it finally being dealt with because someone finally heard the secret. Someone in power, with the resources and technology to do more, was doing the impossible.

The joy in me was so contagious, I wanted to grab Cherry and Lorraine and hug them like a koala bear. I wanted to take Aaron to that restaurant he wanted to go to and treat him to the most expensive plate they had on their menu, I wanted to take Cherry up on her offer to go to a club and shake my barely covered arse at some drunk bloke's face, I wanted to go to a hair salon with Lorraine and just have girl talk between us two, I wanted to be Myshkin's wing woman and help him set up a nice hot date with the guy from two floors below us, and most of all, I wanted to finally let myself go and scream at the top of my lungs because—

"Hey, Weiss, wanna get something to eat?" Cherry asked after the news anchor moved on to the investigation within Stark Industries.

Just like it had in the second movie, Stark dealt with the malicious Vanko during the Grand Prix de Monaco à la Iron Man (with Happy and Ms. Potts assisting him). But unlike in the film, there was no prison break fixed by Justin Hammer. The moment that swine was implicated in the plot with Senator Stern, he came immediately under fire once it leaked out that his company was trying (and failing horribly) to replicate the Iron Man armor. Stark Industries took legal action and it looked like Hammer and his company was finished.

Then everything started veering way off the lane. There was no birthday of gloom and doom where it broke out into a fight between Stark and his best friend, and the billionaire disappeared from the public eye altogether, only a few snapshots here and there taken by nosy paparazzi's. A lot of people suspected that this was a sign that Stark was trying to save face upon his company undergoing an investigation by appointing Ms. Potts as the new CEO of Stark Industries. But I knew better than that.

Stark was in the midst of creating a cure to combat the palladium poisoning. And not only that, he was most likely busy with _certain_ things. So as Stark Industries busied itself in starting new company liaisons that were checked and cleaned, focused on developing education, funding universities for younger generations with important research in their projects, giving to charity, hosting important galas, increasing the influence to outside companies, coming up with new energy to replace unreliable/destructive sources and chemicals to prevent further destruction on the environment, and backing up a ton of things that could be beneficial for improving the world, Stark focused on the dark side of humanity.

( _youjustranawaythat'sallyou'regoodforandyou'restillrunning_ )

"Weiss?" Myshkin's hand rested on my shoulder, shaking me from my thoughts.

"C'mon, let's go eat." I told the others as I headed to my cubicle to grab my purse. "My treat!"

"Free food? I'm game." Aaron agreed easily as he followed Lorraine to grab his things from his cubicle.

I watched the four chatter as they went to grab their car keys, purses, wallets, and I couldn't help a small niggling feeling of happiness overwhelm me. Little things like arguing where to go eat and if they wanted dessert afterwards made me smile fondly.

After everything I had experienced when I arrived to this new and scary world, I learned never to take things for granted. Because the moment it all disappeared, the moment when you find yourself all alone and there was no familiar face to turn to, you had to learn to cherish the moments as long as you could hold on to them.

I never wanted to let something like this go.

But I knew I could not keep this forever.

All I could really do was just smile and enjoy it while it lasted.

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Today had been a long and good day.

I got my paycheck of the week, earning over seven hundred dollars to transfer to my savings account, which was much and plenty. Eating out with my coworkers was nice, being able to take in the moment of respite reminded me of the crew back in New Jersey, that it gave me the urge to go grocery shopping for meat, fish, vegetables, fruits, and ingredients to take home and cook dinner for myself. I wanted to box some of it and give it to Mrs. Davenport, the sweet old lady from next door who looked after me for some time whilst I cried myself into oblivion over the nightmares of Stark ignoring the warning signs I had handed over to him.

Living in Chicago was a learning experience, but I kept myself _busy_ in a way. Five months of silence threatened to lower my guard, but I kept an emergency bag hidden away in case the inevitable happened. Just because nothing happened yet didn't absolutely mean there wasn't _something_.

With my arms full of groceries, I fumbled a little over the keys until they unlocked the door. Entering the cool comforts of my home, I let out a sigh while checking on the clock next to the doorway, reading it to be hitting it close to eight o'clock. I should really get started on making that dinner because no matter how aware I could be in a flat second, I still wanted to rest and preserve my energy for work. People wanting their coffees, their files, their tablets, their schedules filled or cleared, their calls, and every typical thing to be had in the offices was _exhausting_. But what it really needed was some respect because I can only count on two hands how many times an arsehole came close to touching my—

Someone was inside my apartment.

I went still as any petrified person my shoes would; breath caught in my throat, muscles taut with tension, I listened carefully as my senses concentrated on the breathing and heartbeat of the person inside my apartment.

Their heart sounded a little... off tune. A heart murmur I would have thought yet there was a metallic sense, like a light bulb left on.

And it wasn't one person, there was another... two more. There was three people inside. While the first heart was off-tune, the other two felt calm and measured. However, there was one that gradually quickened as the seconds went, like it was excited; it was like how a predator felt when it was a hairbreadths away from pouncing on the prey.

( _theywillalwaysfindyoulittlerabbit_ )

There was a whirring like that of a machine, soft and giving subtle hints of excising heat, just as metallic as the light bulb one, but _bigger_. All three hearts were inside my apartment, and they were waiting for me in my living room which was beyond my kitchen.

I could turn and run, I could quickly grab my emergency bag and make for the bank to take my money out—

"You mind joining us, Ms. Booker?"

... I _knew_ that voice.

My eyes went to the door. I wanted to pretend that this wasn't happening, this was one moment I never wanted to face for as long as I could get away from it. I was afraid, I was so afraid of this like I was back in the horrible, dark place when it all started.

All I ever wanted was a sense of normalcy, to run away back to England... but I knew I couldn't. I wanted to pretend I could shut out the cries of helplessness people around me felt when I walked the streets, but even after all that... I _knew_ I couldn't.

I couldn't ignore people when they needed help; I couldn't go out with Lorraine on her shopping trips as much as I wanted to; I couldn't always lend an ear to Cherry when she needed someone to talk about her horrible dates; I couldn't ask Myshkin to teach me to speak in Russian because of the time it would take; I couldn't always stand in Aaron's corner when he really needed someone to stand by him.

All I could do was wear so many masks, keep myself hidden, and pretend I was invisible. I spent money taking private lessons on how to fight better with my head before moving towards fighting with my fists and legs. I also went back to the gym, relearning old tricks I was taught when I had been in gymnastics before calling it quits. Vaulting, leaping, jumping, twisting, climbing, hanging, and dancing with other girls and ladies who moved with grace and swiftness. And then there was the time I spent running after people on the streets who ran through the city like it was their playground: free running. Jumping over high rooftops, skidding across balconies, moving like languid cats to climb to the highest places without hassle.

This world had done nothing but taken so much from me, it should have left me more angry and afraid that I was no longer able to recognize my old self. Too busy changing from one color to another, like some chameleon, I was losing the meaning of normalcy. In spite of that, I was still trying my best in living the only way I could given my extreme circumstances. So yeah, I was afraid, and sometimes angry at the unfairness of it all, but I would only drag myself in further misery if I stood and did nothing while I had some power to alleviate the pressure put upon the rest of the people around me.

I wasn't ready to face this moment, but whether I was or wasn't, it was here and it was happening.

And it was stepping inside my kitchen from behind me. He was big, I could feel his body heat as he came closer to where I was standing. He burned more than any normal person should be able to. I could also hear the machine that came from somewhere on his person. I felt something brush against my slack arm.

"Hey," a soft and mellow Brooklyn accent filtered into my ears. "Facin' the wrong way, sweetheart. C'mon."

So many familiar voices. I felt my breathing grow a little heavier than normal, my lips quivering with the threat to scream or throw up, I couldn't decide which. Just like with Ms. Potts, I felt weak and helpless.

He pulled me along, forcing my feet to move and follow the direction he set course for me. My chest grew heavy like somebody put a great big rock there and left it. My senses were all over the place, everything was either to noisy or too bright, making the room spin like vertigo gone wrong. His hands, ever so gentle, remained where they were, pulling me along despite knowing how easily he could snap my bones like they tiny twigs.

( _hadn'the?_ )

It was almost like I was finally feeling the slow motion of the world, no longer moving fast enough, actually struggling to catch up with time. Unlike all the hearts that surrounded me, unlike all the heat and breath that remained cool and controlled, I was a mess of slow building panic and fear.

Just because I was the strongest person in the room didn't mean they wouldn't have a hard time in taking me down. I was an emotional wreck about to crash and burn, and they would stand like tall pillars of the earth, like untouchable gods sitting on the lofty clouds of their great kingdom.

"—eep breaths, honey, c'mon, don't panic."

I don't think I knew how to breathe like a normal person anymore. This shouldn't have happened, I shouldn't be seeing them, I shouldn't be here in the same space as them.

( _youwerenevermeanttobehereYouAre **THELIE**!_ )

Warm hands cup my face, and my eyes are scrunched shut, and there are tears falling, and my lungs were collapsing on me! Where was the archangel who would smite people? Where was God striking lighting at me? Where was the guillotine falling from?

Where was _the end_?!

"Oh Jesus, you're really freaking out about this, aren't you? Follow my count and breathe. You ready? Just follow my breathing."

One, something, five, whatever, I can't—

"C'mon, you can do it, again."

One, two, I can't believe this shit...

"A little better, keep going."

One, two, fuck, four, why was this so hard?

"It's okay, we can keep going until you get this."

 _ONE_

 _TWO_

 _THREE_

 _FOUR_

 _FiVe_

 _SiX_

 _SEven_

 _EighT_

 _Nine_

 _Ten_

"There ya go, all better. Doing real good, one more?"

It was like counting sheep, and I could tell because I felt so exhausted. Sleeping was a small luxury I had taken for granted, the way I just closed my eyes and inhaled and exhaled, the sheets cool over my body as the night sang beyond my window. Behind my closed eyelids were dreams: odd and sometimes wonderful. I was sailing in a sea of milk with chocolate sharks trying to eat my ship that was bowl of marshmallow cereal; I was fighting and winning the battle against a giant lion who was angry I pet his girlfriend; I was trying to escape a bunch of aliens because I had the last batch of gummi worms.

Suddenly, breathing wasn't so hard anymore.

I opened my eyes and met Robert Downey Jr.'s own worried chocolate-colored orbs.

"Okay, not how I imagined my meeting with the illusive Spider-Woman would go, but I suppose it's better than getting a punch in the face or something. Also, nice to finally meet you, Ms. Not-so-Itsy-Bitsy-Spider."

"Why do you keep comparing other meetings with people to _our_ meeting?" asked one Sebastian Stan who stood a little away from the man in front of me, looking unimpressed as he crossed his brawny (and single shiny) arms over his chest.

"Really? You can't actually expect someone to act all courteous after finding out certain things, Barnes." Scarlett Johansson droned in that familiar deadpan tone of voice, a single perfect brow raised at the long-haired man with the metal arm who gave the redhead a sour look. "Be glad Stark went with a love tap rather than straight out murdering you."

"Did you seriously call that ass-whooping a love tap?" RDJ demanded over his shoulder to the deadly duo, still holding my face between his hands.

"... What the fuck?" I mumbled.

Because there was Tony Stark, James Buchanan Barnes, and Natasha Romanoff standing in the middle of my apartment and just helped me barely avoid falling into a hyperventilating mess—which, might I add, were the cause of said hyperventilation!

Really, what the ever-living _fuck_?


	13. Spin-off: Web of Intrigue (Teaser)

You all have followed me, gave support and criticism, and so I wanted to update this completed story with a teaser. I also wanted to say that you guys should reread the previous chapter because I also updated and fixed some stuff. Not a whole lot but enough for you guys to be satisfied with some things. Anyway, here's a teaser for you guys because Thor: Ragnorok and The Black Panther trailers have been driving me crazy all week!

Be on the look out for a spin-off and sequel to this story dearest readers! Enjoy!

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ഢҼb oҒ أӣҭԻأᏩմҼ

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The Asset—

( _nonotanymore **NOTANYMORE**!)_

Bucky's eyes traced the age lines and well-groomed goatee the other man was sporting, but beside the age and key differences, it honestly for a moment felt like standing in the same space, same breath, as Howard. It was almost like seeing an old friend... but _not_.

" _You_ ," came an ugly snarl from the other man.

Dark eyes were set ablaze with a familiar fury, Bucky had no time to move—To defend? To attack?—when he was suddenly thrown backwards by a force which was clutching him tight from the neck and his chest before his world exploded in white when he crashed into something thick from behind him. Any other man would have died from the impact of their body, their spine, colliding and crashing through the crumbling brick stone walls, but Bucky wasn't just any guy.

( _pity_ )

Head dizzy and black spots dancing around his vision, he forced himself on his forearms and lifted his head up, trying to get a word out before it threatened to be swallowed back like his tongue almost did.

"Mr. Stark—"

He didn't get the chance to say more because the metal suit then grabbed the closest car and began to spin it like an athlete competing in the hammer throw. Bucky watched the car suddenly find itself in the air where gravity then decided to lump it directly where he was lying. Quickly, he scrambled out of the way just in time to avoid being flattened like road kill, but he didn't get far as something tight grabbed his ankle and then tossed _him_ as the new heavy ball to the hammer throw.

Crashing into a windshield, Bucky didn't bother getting up again. His brain was doing flip flops and he felt like he was going to puke himself empty of his entire digestive system.

( _butyoudeserveditdidn'tyou?_ )

He groaned when his body was dragged off the hood of the ruined car, but before his body could fall in a heap, metal fingers coiled tightly around his neck before proceeding to lift him high off the ground like a wet rag. Bucky's dizzy eyes could barely focus on the scowling metal plate mask, but he was overwhelmed by the two laser bright eyes that stared at him.

"What's the Fist of HYDRA doing skulking," and the fingers twisted tighter like vice. "On my fucking _doorstep_?"

He blacked out before he could give an answer.


End file.
